Feeling and Healing
by musicalgirl4474
Summary: Magic is legal, Morgana is back, and everything seems to be looking up. Until disaster strikes again and sends the world spiraling out of control. (Sequel to Scared and Scarred, please read that one first to be introduced to Yara Mair, but you do not have to.) Probable eventual Mergana, definite Arwen.
1. Reasons for Abolishing Laws

**A/N: I'm back! I hope that the sequel will live up to the original, though this chapter isn't as good as I'd like. I don't think I'm very good at writing Morgana.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** **Thornsword** **, a reviewer of the last chapter of Scared and Scarred.**

 **R &R everyone! I hope it lives up to expectations.**

 _ **3rd Person Morgana POV**_

It took a little while for Morgana to discover why Arthur had suddenly decided to repeal the laws against magic; she just assumed that he found out about Merlin having magic. She hadn't thought about _how_ that had happened. She had just been proud that his first response had not been to gut the warlock. That was until, during her now daily lessons on more peaceful types of magic with Yara and Merlin, she accidentally transformed his shirt into a white rabbit. And saw the scars.

If that possibility had even been remotely in her mind for Merlin, she might have been a bit more tactful about asking the questions that that caused. As it was, however, she let out a rather embarrassing shriek and backpedaled away from the table they had been sitting around, tipping over her chair in the process.

Merlin looked confused for a moment, before he caught sight of his own wrists. Morgana watched in some sort of detached fascination as his pale face turned even whiter, and he stammered out a few words to reverse her spell and tugged the dark blue tunic back over his head.

"We'll continue this tomorrow," he muttered, and very nearly ran out of Morgana's chambers.

"I . . . what?" Morgana croaked, looking to Yara, who had remained calm and composed over the last . . . few seconds. Huh, it felt longer than that.

"It's very difficult to deal with the pressure of being hated, and seeing kin die on the pyre," the young girl said. "How do you think your brother came to the conclusion that Merlin possessed magic?"

"But . . . _Merlin_?"

"Apparently."

"I . . ." a sudden thought struck Morgana then. "Trust isn't the only reason Arthur told Merlin to watch me, is it?"

"Arthur trusts you to watch out for Merlin," Yara pointed out. "So really, it's still about trust."

"But that means that Arthur does trust me!" Morgana pointed out, and was a bit surprised at how excited that made her. Then again, Arthur was her brother, and they had always trusted each other. Losing that trust, knowing that she had no one to blame but herself, that hurt.

"How did Arthur find out?" Morgana almost dreaded the answer, it was unlikely to be pleasant, after all.

"I was in the dungeons when it happened, but I . . . I was sentenced to death, and King Arthur came to see me, to tell me the verdict. I knew enough from one of my dreams to send him to find Merlin as soon as I knew that I was to die." Yara was quiet for a while, tracing absent circles on the dark wood of the table in front of her. "You saw his right arm?"

"Yes . . .?" Morgana said, drawing out the word as nerves tingled down her spine. She moved back to the table and righted her chair to sit as Yara straitened up to look the older woman in the eyes.

"On his left, well." She was tracing a word on the table now, and her eyes held a vacant look, as though she was searching for the best way to say something terrible. "On the left, he carved the word 'monster'."

Such emotion swamped Morgana then that the hand over her mouth was barely able to keep it in. As it was, she felt a silent scream tear at her throat. Yara flinched slightly. Sometimes, Morgana forgot that the enchantress could feel strong emotions, particularly if there were no background ones to distract. Morgana took a deep breath, bowing her head to run her fingers through her loose dark hair. Everything was so messed up. Vaguely, she realized that Yara was speaking again.

"-was at the meeting where the council talked with the king about my fate. Apparently they pushed for the pyre, but Arthur wouldn't hear of it. Still, they hounded him with all those 'facts' about sorcerers."

"I should have been here for him," Morgana said, though it came out more like a cross between a moan and a sob. "For both of them." Okay, she really needed to get a grip of herself; that was definitely a sob.

"You were not yourself," Yara said, standing. Her small figure meant that she was only a little bit taller standing than sitting on the high chairs, but she still gave off a commanding air when she wanted to. She took Morgana by the arm and lead her to the window. It was a week since Morgana had come back to Camelot, but still some of the bright, magic-enhanced flowers lay on the cobbled courtyard, though some servants were bustling about cleaning them up. Likely they would be used to brighten up the servant's homes and quarters. Morgana felt a smile pull at her lips at the thought. "Fear twists and corrupts, more deeply for some than for others."

Morgana felt her cheeks heat, but she supposed that it was true. A question began nagging at her from the back of her mind, so, turning to Yara, she voiced it. "Why would Arthur continue to worry about Merlin if the problem was the propaganda against magic?"

"Because harming yourself is a way to relieve stress, mostly due to blood loss, but still. If Merlin becomes stressed or scared like that again, it could be easy for him to slip."

"How do you know all this?" Morgana asked. "You talk as if you know someone else who . . ." she trailed off, surprised by the darkness suddenly present in Yara's brown eyes. "Oh."

"Yes, _oh_ ," the girl said. "Uther killed my six-year-old brother a few years ago, I couldn't handle it."

"Then how did you stop? If it's so hard . . ."

"I had a dream. It's amazing the kind of clarity that can come to you when you sleep," Yara said. "I have to go, my father is going to try to teach me how to handle a sword."

"Have fun," Morgana said quietly.

"You should go to someone. Arthur, or Gwen," Yara said, turning at the door to the hall. "You shouldn't be alone after that, and they or Gaius could help explain things better."

"Merlin's probably with Gaius," Morgana murmured, and Yara nodded before exiting her chambers, going off to the practice area. Gwaine had been teaching his surrogate daughter (now a lady, though Yara could hardly care less about that) to defend herself ever since he had signed those documents. Not very surprising, now that Morgana had gotten to know him a little better through stories that Merlin had told her.

Absently, Morgana opened her wardrobe and trailed her hands over the soft fabric of the cloaks she owned: red, green, blue, velvet, silk, wool . . . but all just cloaks, something to blur her enough so that the fact that Morgana was in the citadel would not strike panic into the people of Camelot. A red silk cloak over a brown dress would do nicely enough for the short trip from her chambers to Gwen's. Though really, it wasn't a very long time until the happy couple would make their marriage announcement, so it was a temporary state.

Only a small number of people in the Citadel knew that she was there, a number that amounted to most knights and guards, as well as the quietest, most secretive servant Morgana had ever seen. 'The servants will gossip,' Arthur had said to her protests of not needing one, 'if a guard or a knight or a member of the royal household goes fetching breakfast, lunch, and dinner, for seemingly no one.' So she allowed her meals to be brought to her by a woman named Sela, who spoke only when spoken to, and then the bare minimum.

With all the secrecy, even the short trip to Gwen's chambers set Morgana's heart racing; with fear, with joy, with excess energy, she had no idea which was more prominent. Knocking her hand against the door produced a sound that echoed through the quiet, thankfully deserted, hallway, causing Morgana to hurry into the room faster than she otherwise might have when the door opened.

Gwen looked surprised to see her, but indicated that she should sit in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

"I thought you were with Merlin and Yara," she said, settling herself gracefully into one of the plush chairs as Morgana did the same. Despite everything, the seer had been able to keep her grace. (The one thing about herself worth being proud of.)

"I was, but . . . well. I found out why Arthur really dropped the laws against magic."

Gwen's brow furrowed for a moment, before she understood what Morgana was implying. "Oh," she said, looking worried. "What happened?"

"After? He seemed a little panicked, he ran off. Yara said that he probably went to Gaius."

"Yes, he's been doing that when he feels overwhelmed," Gwen agreed quietly.

"Do you trust me?" Morgana wasn't sure what made her blurt out the question - probably the conversation with Yara - but she was glad that she did ask it.

Gwen was quiet for a while, looking into the empty stone fireplace with a thoughtful expression. "With what Merlin explained of compulsion spells, I know that I will grow to trust you as I did before," she said finally, "but it may take a while. Arthur, think, may forgive you sooner."

"Not very smart of him. You know me better."

"Oh, it's by no fault of his own," Gwen said with a smile. "I've been encouraging it."

 **A/N: Sorry about the ending. This chapter was kind of spiraling into nowhere. Okay: There is a clue in the form of the name of my new OC as to what the main plot will probably be. If anyone guesses it (Nearly impossible, though I will give you a hint, it does NOT have to do with the language of Indonesia) by the time I update (which could be a while) then I will give them a shout-out next chapter!**


	2. The Dream

**A/N: Sorry this took so long! Goodness gracious . . . I had this done two days ago, but my laptop, for whatever reason, is having issues with google accounts, which makes signing in through email very difficult. So . . . I'm using this lovely snow day to utilize my parent's laptop to get the job done.**

 **This chapter may been a little choppy, sorry. It's one of those 'I need to get to a certain place but getting there is hard' kind of chapters.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to my lone reviewer,** **namelessandgameless** **. I'm so happy you took the time.**

 _ **Gwen POV**_

After her talk with Morgana, Gwen walked her back to her chambers. Morgana seemed distraught, enough so that the next stop the soon-to-be queen made was to the physician's chambers. When Merlin had been upset in the past week, he had retreated there more than to his own quarters. It made sense; Merlin was such a social creature.

Sure enough, when she opened the door, the new Court Sorcerer was sitting at the long table, hands in his hair as he stared at the pages of a thick book of magical knowledge. Stared without seeing, Gwen thought, narrowing her eyes at the tenseness of his shoulders.

"Hi Gwen," Merlin said without turning, and his voice sounded breathless, as if he'd been running.

"Are you alright?" Gwen asked quietly, stepping to stand at his side.

"Fine," Merlin said quietly, but his left fingers touched his right sleeve briefly, almost absent-mindedly. Gwen noticed that the book was about healing magic, and the page he had been staring at was the beginning of a chapter on ridding oneself of scars.

"Oh, Merlin," Gwen said, heart breaking.

"I'm fine," Merlin said again, still looking resolutely at the paper. "Just . . . wish that I would stop being reminded of it."

"It's only been a week," Gwen said gently. "It'll get better."

"But it will never completely heal," Merlin said as Gwen reached forward to gently close the book. "It would be easier if I could forget about it."

"Give it time, Merlin," Gwen said, gently drawing the young man in for a hug. He wound his arms around her waist loosely as she gently drew him up to lay his head against her shoulder. "You just need time."

She felt him nod his head against her shoulder. "I feel so silly," he sniffed.

Gwen laughed. "You've always been a bit silly my friend." He laughed as well as he pulled back, smile stretching across his face.

"You always manage to cheer me up, Gwen. You'll make a wonderful Queen."

"Hush!" Gwen said with another laugh. "That's not public knowledge yet!"

"Come on," Merlin groaned, picking up the book to place it in the bag that hung from his shoulder. "You need to tell the people eventually, I'm sure there's already a couple rumors going around."

"Just a bit more time," Gwen said. "The people are still getting used to magic being legal, let's not add a new ruler into the mix."

"Excuses, excuses," Merlin teased, shaking his head as he began walking towards the door that Gwen had left open.

"But legitimate excuses," Gwen said, catching up with her friend. Merlin simply smiled in response. "How are you adjusting?" Merlin's life had changed rather dramatically in the last few days, he now had rooms near Arthur's, and he no longer lived in fear of his magic being discovered. Add in the fact that he was no longer a servant and so had almost all of his time to himself, and Gwen had been wondering how her erstwhile friend had been faring.

"I'm alright, reeling a bit, but . . . yeah." Merlin's voice petered out as he bit at his lower lip. "I am doing my best, but half of the time in the morning I wake up wondering why Gaius let me sleep in." He smiled wryly. "It appears that my life in general will get itself put back together in time."

Gwen left Merlin at his door to go back to her own rooms, but first, she needed to check on Morgana.

Her knock on the door went unanswered, but she could hear Morgana's voice within, so she pushed the door open. Apparently, the young woman had taken her advice, and was now resting. Or, had been. Now, however, the seer was tossing and turning on her bed, letting out small noises of distress.

Gwen hurried to her once-friend's side and shook the woman's shoulder gently, attempting to wake her. Attempting, and failing. Perhaps it was because she was _seeing_ something in the dream, perhaps Morgana was simply a heavier sleeper than she had been in the past. Either way, Gwen would stay until she awoke.

It wasn't long before Morgana jolted upright with a cry, startling Gwen into standing from the chair she had taken by the bed.

"Are you alright?" she asked, settling back into the chair as Morgana took several deep breaths.

"I don't know," the young woman answered. "I . . . the dream was confusing. They often are but . . . usually I can tell what they mean. This one I . . . someone was screaming, a girl. She was scared, and someone was cackling. An older person, though I can't rightly remember why I have that impression. After that everything blurred together, though I think I saw Gwain's face, and Arthur's and Merlin's. I can't remember their expressions though . . . which . . . I don't even know what to do to stop whatever it is from happening!"

"Do you usually?"

"I tried to warn Arthur a number of times of things I saw in my dreams before I left," Morgana answered, and continued with a small eye roll, "but he never listened. So I have no idea if it would have stopped anything. I like to think so."

"Do any of your dreams ever come back?"

"You mean do I ever dream the same thing again? Sometimes, if it's important enough. Sometimes if bits of the dream have been fulfilled but there are still some things that need to happen."

"Your dreams," Gwen asked, "do they always come true?"

"So far they have, all but one. Merlin and Yara say that that will not always be the case, and I sincerely want to believe them. My dreams are often horrible, and there is one that has not yet come to pass that . . . I do not wish to think about."

"Oh?" Gwen didn't want to pry, not necessarily, but talking with Morgana like this again, like a friend, felt . . . good.

"I . . . Merlin says that this dream was more of a warning, something that could have happened had I stayed on my path of darkness." Morgana took a deep breath before continuing. "I was to be killed by Emrys."

"But . . . isn't Merlin Emrys?"

Morgana nodded. "Apparently, the Great Dragon-"

"The what?" Gwen interrupted.

"The Great Dragon," Morgana repeated. "Kilghara, the dragon that was chained up under Camelot for a long time, he has prophetic abilities. Apparently he told Merlin that Mordred and I would bring about Arthur's death."

"He told Merlin . . . Merlin talks to dragons? Dragons can talk?"

"I'm not going to explain it if he hasn't already," Morgana said, shaking her head. "It's the kind of secret that is his to keep. It is . . . something situated deep in his soul, his very being, as I understand it. Besides, did you not just hear a word I said? I was prophesized to bring about my brother's death!"

"I heard you," Gwen said gently, pushing aside her feelings about Merlin still having kept a secret. That could be dealt with later, when she had time to analyze that fact. "I also heard you say that Emrys was supposed to kill you. And as I don't believe that that will happen, I think that we don't have to be too worried about it."

"Gwen, don't be hard on him. Merlin has a lot on his mind, and it has not been long. Just give him time. It's likely that he won't even remember that you don't know until something he does makes you aware of it."

"That would be just like Merlin," Gwen agreed with a smile.

For the first time in a long time, the two young women shared a laugh.

 **A/N: Review please? Reviews make me happy. And they make me more likely to try to fit writing into my schedule. :)**


	3. Inconvenience

**A/N: Sorry this took so long, school and such. But it's break now, so I had time.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** **mersan123** **.**

 **R &R everyone!**

 _ **Yara POV**_

She loved her new father. She really, really did.

She hated the sword. She really, really, really did.

It gave her blisters on her hand from the rough grips, and the weight felt awkward, not at all like the extension of herself that Gwaine wanted her to see it as. And as much as it was an instrument of protection, it's edges were sharp enough to bite into bones. It was against Yara's nature to enjoy such an instrument in her hands.

She enjoyed the knives a _little_ more.

She was used to the weight of a knife, an instrument used often in healing as both a chopping implement and occasionally used to aid in the removal of something stuck in the flesh. Throwing them proved to be more of a challenge, but she hit the target about half of the time.

A higher success rate than she'd had with the bow and arrow.

Spears were a lost cause.

Hand-to-hand combat seemed to be Yara's only natural affinity when it came to fighting.

Her hands found the nerve centers with an ease that surprised her father, though she lacked the strength to ever take on an enemy in a direct fight, her agility and stamina could be utilized to tire them out. Not that Yara herself planned on doing much fighting in her life. Ever. But her father was adamant that she learn to protect herself.

"I don't want my daughter to be a damsel in distress," he had told her with a smirk. "It's much too dangerous a profession." The armour that she had been wearing for the practice session was easy enough to take off on her own, but one of the servants (Sela, wasn't it? The lady Morgana's maid?) had insisted.

"It is unseemly," the woman said crossly (was she ever not cross?) as she lifted the chest piece over Yara's head. "A Lady using a sword. A lady such as yourself ought to be at your studies, learning embroidery or some such. And surely you, a sorcerer, can defend yourself just fine." Sela might have had a motherly air about her, had her eyes been just a little warmer, or her smile more sincere whenever it appeared (which didn't happen often).

"And honestly, a dress of fine cotton or silk would be more to your station than a boy's trousers and tunic!" Yara bit back the response that she had borrowed the clothes from the Lady Morgana, thank-you-very-much. No need to antagonize the woman, she wanted her gone as soon as possible, so she must learn to be pollite.

The last of the armor was removed just a few moments later, but Yara had to steel herself for even more scolding (the woman simply could not accept that a little sorcerer-girl had been made noble simply because her new father had 'felt pity same as any old fool').

Yara was so lost in her thoughts of annoyance and the struggle to maintain an outwards calm, that she barely had time to yelp in surprise when the rag filled with obnoxious fumes was thrust over her mouth and nose. Her body went immediately slack. Paralyzed. Fear gripped Yara as Sela bent over her, cold glint in her eyes that much more pronounced. The enchantress grasped for her magic, but her mind barely even sensed the stream of power inside her, her conscious skipping across its surface like a smooth stone.

Yara went from panicked to annoyed fairly quickly. There wasn't much she could do in her current situation except for plot Sela's demise, and this she did with abandon as Sela dragged her out of the armory, grunting with the effort. At first, Yara wondered at the fact that Sela thought that she would not be spotted dragging her all the way out of the castle. Then, Sela whistled, a short, sharp tone that cut the air like sharp scissors through coarse cloth. The man that came around the corner to the whistle was huge, a hulking man carrying a sack. Oh. No. Yara did not want to go into that sack.

She really, really, really, really did NOT like the idea of being trapped in that sack. In her helpless state though, what she did or did not want wasn't going to be taken into account. The man stuffed her into the bag like a rag doll, with no care in the world about how uncomfortably she was folded. The top was tied shut, and Yara was plunged into a hot, suffocating, darkness.

She could not feel her paralyzed limbs at all, but the jolt that came when the man threw the sack over his broad shoulder made her cry out into her own mind. Her mouth and vocal cords were just as unmovable as the rest of her. She wished fervently that she could move, even if it was just to get into a more comfortable position. Her muscles were already starting to hurt from the contortions they had been forced into. The jostling got worse all of a sudden, and Yara supposed that they were going down stairs. Panic gripped her again, but it was so overwhelming that she shut it out. Panic would not help her, it only made her magic that much more elusive; like scrabbling for a hold on an icy slope, it wasted energy that she would need later. Instead, she slipped into something that her mother had taught her, something that had been taught to her by _her_ father, the dragon lord. Her mother had called it 'meditation', Yara preferred to think of it as 'internalization'.

Whatever it's called though, she was able to make it work, even in this position. Calm stole over her mind. Her limbs were still limp, still beyond her control, and she was still stuffed in a sack and being kidnapped by the Lady Morgana's maidservant, but she was apart from that too. She could look at it with the logic that she was learning in her lessons with the Lord Geoffrey. Gwaine would be expecting to see her in a few minutes for dinner, he would let Merlin and King Arthur know when she didn't show up. She had not once missed dinner with him.

There wasn't much that she could do. Other than leaving a magical trail, but that was a little outside of her abilities at the moment. Even floating in her subconscious, her magic was far from her reach. She could see it, see the golden stream cutting through her mind, but she was shut away from it, unable to move. She didn't let it affect her. Yara had already panicked over that little inconvenient fact. She took a deep breath, felt her body relaxing as much as it could in it's cramped position, and let herself slip deeper into her mind.

 **A/N: Review? Please? If you were with me through Scared and Scarred, you'll know that I LOVE the number 10. Ten reviews typically brings about a new chapter.**


	4. Dangerous Safety

**A/N: So, this chapter's a little longer than the last one, sorry it took so long though! School and play practice and scholarships and work . . . yeah. My life's kinda crazy. (I was listening to the song 'River Lea' by Adele when I wrote the last bit of this chapter . . . good song!)**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** **Aaronna** **. I hope you like it!**

 **R &R everyone!**

 **(I do not own Merlin. Obviously.)**

 _ **Morgana POV**_

Sela was late with Morgana's evening meal; but Sela had never been late with anything before, so she was willing to let this pass unremarked upon. She would have too, if she hadn't had a panicked Gwaine in her room just a minute ago, and if her magic hadn't screamed 'danger' the moment the maid walked into her room.

The magic twisted in her gut like something alive, making her feel that she was either about to be sick, or about to set something on fire accidentally. She calmed herself, using breathing exercises Yara had taught her. "My Lady?" Sela asked, voice ringing with false concern. Morgana gave the woman a stuttering smile.

"I'm fine, just tired and a little hungry," she said, indicating for Sela to set the tray on the table. The woman had no inherent magic, and had not learned anything before the purge, in fact, she had less of a sense of magic than anyone you might meet on the street. So how could she have anything to do with Yara's disappearance? It made no sense, but Morgana's magic rarely led her wrong, and her dreams . . . those she trusted even above her magic.

'Merlin?' she cast her mind out, trying to reach the other magical being. Trying desperately to contact someone, anyone, tell them that she was in danger, Because she'd never had a problem with Sela before, she must be in imminent danger now. 'Merlin!'

'Morgana?' Merlin's voice was unsure and Morgana realized that they had not talked about what had occurred at midday (she hadn't had the chance to react to it yet either).

She wasn't yet accomplished at this form of communication, she could only send a few words, names mostly, and general impressions. She sent one that meant, roughly, 'Danger, help.' Whether it had worked or not would-

'On my way.' Morgana had never been more relieved to hear a voice in her head.

"Are you quite sure you're alright, My Lady?"

"Actually," Morgana said slowly, "I would like a warm bath."

"Of course My Lady."

Morgana couldn't help pacing as the water heated. Her quarters were far from the physician's, where Merlin had been for the last few hours, helping Gaius. A knock at her door had Sela turning, but Morgana waved her back to her task as she crossed to the door. Merlin stood out in the hall, thin mouth set in a serious line. Morgana slipped into the hall, closing the door behind her.

"You heard about Yara?" she asked quietly. He nodded, eyes searching her face as he stayed silent. "I think Sela had some part in it. I felt something . . . malicious about her just now, in my chambers."

"You've never got that reading off her before?"

"No," Morgana said, shaking her head, black tresses falling over her blue-clad shoulders. "I think that she means to do me harm as well, and soon. That's why I can sense it now when I couldn't before."

"That would make sense," Merlin murmured. Morgana saw his eyes flash gold before he closed them and began speaking under his breath. A detection spell, unless she missed her guess. Morgana was silent for a time, watching him. When he opened his eyes, he seemed confused, a frown fixing itself on his face. "She's slippery, must have an amulet of some type, meant to repel magic directed at it."

"But-"

"Yes, I can still sense it," Merlin said, placing a placating hand on her arm. "But I have to get Arthur or one of the knights, not many people are aware that you are here, and now is not the time."

"I'll keep her in my rooms as long as I can," Morgana said, she hoped bravely. A crease appeared between Merlin's brow before he rested a hand on her forehead. His eyes flared gold and she felt a presence in her mind, golden and gentle.

"Don't want to leave alone in a potentially dangerous situation," he said with a smile.

"Those are big words, Merlin."

He grinned cheekily at her, then left, racing off towards Arthur's chambers. Morgana took a deep breath before smoothing her features into something not worry or fear. It was odd to think that she had been braver when she was under a spell . . . then again, perhaps not. She hoped it wouldn't take too long to get that bravery back.

The bath was all but finished when she reentered the room, and when Morgana put her hand in the water, it was the perfect temperature. Why couldn't Sela be a bad servant? " _Forbearn,_ " she whispered, and the water bubbled for a moment before settling.

"This water's too hot," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Perhaps you can mend some of my dresses while it cools?"

She's acting a little out of character, and she knows it, but apparently Sela doesn't. She crosses to the wardrobe full of Morgana's old clothing, clothing of another time that she can't believe still fits her. Morgana thinks that everything about her should be different, tainted by the darkness that she wrought upon the world, upon Camelot, upon her own family. She had no intention to wear those dresses ever again, they brought out her . . . more self-depreciating thoughts.

The purple dress that Sela pulls out first, the one that she had loved so much, makes Morgana turn her head away, towards the meal still sitting on the table. It seems as good a distraction from the dresses as any, so she sits down and begins eating. It takes just a few moments for a knock to sound at the door, but during those moments, Morgana's magic got more and more agitated. She was just about to just up and run out the door with some kind of invented excuse when the soft sound of knuckles against wood brought her calm back.

"Enter," she called. Merlin pushed open the door, behind him were Arthur and Gwaine, both with swords drawn.

"Sela," Arthur said, voice strong and commanding, "you have been accused of facilitating a kidnapping."

But Sela stayed sat in her chair, a smirk growing over her features. "Sire, surely you do not believe this witch above one of your loyal subjects."

"You conniving-!" Merlin placed a placating hand on Gwaine's sword-arm, but the knight shook him off.

"I am sorry for your loss, Sir Gwaine," Sela said as Morgana rose from her chair, regally as she could, and went to stand beside Merlin. "But I must say, I thought you had a more logical head on your shoulders. No-one without magic could possibly take a sorceress."

"Enchantress," Gwaine growled.

Sela simply shrugged, setting the dress aside. "Whichever. But I had nothing to do with it."

"You lie," Merlin said.

"And how would you know this?" One of Sela's blond eyebrows rose.

"You may be wearing an amulet of some type," Merlin said, gesturing to where a silver chain disappeared into the woman's dress. "But nothing is powerful enough to block out all magic."

Arthur's and Gwaine's swords were angled toward the woman as she stood slowly. "That is not the only item I have, and not all weapons are made of steel or magic." A pain shot through Morgana in that instant, and she gasped, doubling over. Her blood roared through her ears, almost drowning out the crash and yells that followed. Her insides felt like they were trying to crawl out of her body, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't . . . before the darkness took her into it's arms, she felt arms around her, supporting her as she sunk to the ground. Merlin. A sense of safety washed over her. And then she blacked out.

 **A/N: 85 people read the last chapter from when I posted it to when I posted this one. 4 reviews is almost 5% of people who read it reviewed it. Thank you so much to that 5% minority! If I get 10 reviews, that is to say, the review number gets to 21, the next chapter** _ **will**_ **be up faster. Please? Pretty please? It's just . . . my life is so busy, and I need to know that it's worth all the time I put into this. :)**


	5. Poison or Potion Is There A Difference?

**A/N: You guys were so close! SO CLOSE to the 10 review mark! I've decided that I'll update once a month (faster if, and only if, I have time and get motivated, which may happen) unless the ten reviews happen faster. I'm so tired :P. (I'm sorry these chapters aren't longer, I'm kind of feeling my way along this plot as I go. Hope I don't fall into a hole.)**

 **Hope you like this chapter.**

 **This one is dedicated to a new reader,** **Jenna Kayser** **. I'm so glad you enjoyed the story up to this point! I hope I can keep you enthralled, slow updating notwithstanding.**

 **Merlin POV**

Morgana had been poisoned. As he gently lowered her to the floor, Merlin fought down memories of the last time he had seen Morgana look like that; scared and gasping for breath that wouldn't come. Glass shattered and he looked up just in time to see the heavily armoured men leap through the window from the backs of wyverns. Since when did wyverns carry riders? Surely they, like their cousin the dragon, were too proud?

Gwaine and Arthur were without armor, though undoubtedly better swordsmen than the four who had burst in so ostentatiously. Still, four armoured men were enough to put them on the defensive. " _Scyfe_ ," he said, hand outstretched towards the men. They flew backwards into the wall, collapsing with a clatter of metal.

Arthur, who had already settled himself into a defensive position, shook his head in some bemusement. "I keep forgetting that you use magic to protect me, Merlin."

"You forget he has magic period," Gwaine said, going to stand in front of Sela, who now looked decidedly less confident. "Luckily, it seems that our enemies do as well."

"Morgana!" Arthur cried as Merlin knelt at her side, tilting her head so that she would not choke on her tongue. "Merlin what happened?"

"Poison," he said absently. "Gwaine, take Sela to the dungeons, Arthur, help me get her to Gaius."

"Poison?" asked Arthur, and Merlin turned to pick up the food tray.

"To Gaius, now!"

"Can't you just teleport her?" Arthur asked, speaking automatically. Merlin could see the concern for his half-sister knitting the young king's brow.

"I'll add that to my list of things to learn," he said, pushing the door open with his back. Arthur hurried out into the hall with Gwaine behind him, sword held slantwise across Sela's throat. The woman's head barely came up to the top of his chest.

It took effort to keep up with Arthur's pace to the physician's quarters. Thanks to years of practice as Arthur's manservant though, not a single food item dropped from the tray. "What happened?" Gaius asked in alarm as they blew into the cluttered room.

"Poison," Merlin said, setting the tray down on one of the tables as his once-guardian looked Morgana over.

"She seems to simply be unconscious at the moment," the old physician observed, pulling back an eyelid to check the pupil. "I'll need to examine the food to determine the poison used. Merlin, if you could?"

Merlin took over at Morgana's side, resting a hand on her forehead periodically to check for a developing fever, checking her heart and breaths as well, looking for anything abnormal. Sela had spoken of weapons, so this was not benign, it had some other purpose than just sending Morgana into dreamland. Dreamland. Oh.

"Merlin? What is it?" Merlin must have let some of the dawning realization show itself on his face, and Arthur had caught it.

"Nothing, just an idea." _I_ _hope_ , he did not say.

"No more secrets," Arthur warned, the closest he ever got anymore to reminding Merlin of . . . was it really only a week ago? Merlin supposed that it was. One of the busiest and longest weeks of his life.

"Gaius, is it possible to induce dreams?"

"There were elixirs used by some of the Seers in the past when they wished for a prophecy," Gaius said, looking up from his examination of the bread. "Some would put the user to sleep for a long time. But, as with all magic of that calibre, there is a danger. It is said that whatever happens to the dreamers in this state happens to their bodies in the waking world."

"So if they died in the dream . . ."

"They died in real life," Merlin confirmed Arthur's fearful words. Gaius nodded and put down the bread, reaching with a spoon to get a few drops of the sauce spread over the meats into a vial.

"If your hypothesis is correct Merlin, it could be . . . ah, yes," he said as he held the brown liquid over a candle flame and the brown became red. "Acsauhaya."

"Ax-a-what?" Arthur asked, tearing his eyes from Morgana's face to peer at Gaius.

"Acsauhaya is a mixture of plants that cause both hallucinations and unconsciousness, one of the strongest potions of the Old Religion. The Seers had to practice with their gifts for years before they were aloud to use it, and even then they only ever did in times of dire need."

"Is there any way to wake her?"

"I wish I could say that there was a plant or strong smell salt that would do the trick Arthur," Gaius said, looking at his king. "But one of the most important characteristics of the induced sleep was that it was all but impossible to wake the dreamer."

But Arthur was already shaking his head, pacing the small room as Merlin watched. "I cannot accept that, there must be something to be done."

"There may be a spell somewhere, a safeguard built into the brewing, but I doubt it," Gaius said. "And in either case, it would be Merlin's job to seek that out, not yours." Merlin felt a twinge of sympathy as Arthur's face fell into hopelessness. Arthur was not a patient soul, he always felt the need to rescue people, it was his way of showing he cared. He would go mad with worry if he was not distracted in some way.

"This is undoubtedly connected with Yara's disappearance," he said. Arthur looked at him quizzically. "Think about it," Merlin continued, "Sela put the acsauhaya into the meal before she could know that Morgana so much as suspected her."

"Maybe it was in case Morgana had a dream? So that she could not warn the rest of us?"

"Maybe," he agreed. "Or maybe there is certain information that Sela, or whoever she was working for, needs or wants. Information about the future."

"Then why take Yara?"

"You're the strategist," Merlin said, turning back to Morgana. "You tell me."

"Don't give me orders, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said, but looked thoughtful. "Perhaps Sela could offer answers," he said, and swept from the room.

"He does not quite understand, does he?" Gaius asked.

"I think that he doesn't want to, not if there's not much he can do to save her," Merlin said, brushing a lock of dark hair away from Morgana's pale brow.

"And you?"

Merlin was silent for a time. "Are there any signs that would tell us if she was in danger?"

"A fever is likely to develop if she is under much stress, yes," Gaius said.

"So we'll know when we're running out of time." That was important; in Merlin's considerable experience in saving people, the solution usually presented itself in what turned out to be the last possible moment. Though really, that was most usually due to Arthur being a dollophead and charging to face the danger head on.

"Is there another book that you know of that has information on the potion?"

"I seem to remember there being," Gaius said, glancing at the book open in front of him. "But I've read through these books so many times that they blur together."

"I'll start looking then." It would be a long few days.

 **A/N: Guess what? Next chapter's already completed. So I can guarantee that if that review number gets up to 30, you'll get an early chapter. :)**


	6. Speaking with Sela

**A/N: This chapter's a little bit wonky, sorry. It was kinda difficult to write.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** **Darc Greyhaven** **.**

 _ **Arthur POV**_

Sela wasn't talking. Arthur did not condone torture, even his father had barely ever used it, and only in the grimmest of times. But Sela wasn't talking. She seemed to care little that the kidnapping of a noble by a servant was grounds for execution.

"Who are you working for?"

"The people." What kind of answer was that? Vague as water vapor at noon, foggy, indistinct and all but invisible.

"The people of Camelot are perfectly happy."

"Not your people, King Arthur. The people whom you have wronged."

"I have wronged very few people willing to stoop this low."

"Not all of your old enemies are assuaged by your new-found love of magic," the woman said. "Old blood must be avenged; your father, at least, understood this."

Arthur bristled at this, he managed to mostly ignore his father's shortcomings in favor of remembering the man in a good light. It was, perhaps, untruthful, but lying to oneself isn't nearly as hard sometimes as lying to others. "What old blood?" The woman only smirked. Arthur started pacing outside the cell, an old habit that he had thought was gone for good. He could not keep his people safe from something that he did not know to defend against, but what would Sela care about that? But Sela was chatty, and people wanted to boast.

"How did you manage to take an enchantress without a fight?" Sela pursed her lips.

"You think me a simple woman." It was not a question. "That is my greatest weapon."

So, she was a professional. But a woman like her would not be in this business alone. She had a partner. Still, any bounty hunter was dangerous. Sela had been hired even before Yara had come to Camelot, so the bounty must have been on someone else originally, someone that was harder to get to now. Apparently trying to get to him. Someone that a servant could get to. A knight was not likely, it would be easier to take one of those from a patrol, so someone who rarely left the Citadel. Gwen or Merlin. He would have to look into her activities to find which one she had been eyeing, but that was enough information for now.

"What blood was spilt that bounty of a sufficient amount would be available for someone close to me to be taken?" he murmured to himself, shaking his head. "I must have angered a king."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sela smile a little private smile. Her name probably wasn't actually Sela, but until he had something else to call her, that would have to do. Besides the point. A king. A king that he had offended, grievously. Odin. He would operate under the assumption of it being Odin for now, if anything, preparing for that worst-case-scenario would leave them prepared for anything.

"How much is Odin paying you?"

Sela shrugged with a smile. "Client confidentiality," she said with a sneer. Honor among thieves, apparently. Still, at least now he was pretty sure that it was Odin; for all the good that did him. Odin's kingdom was large, though it was unlikely that Yara would even be inside its borders, not unless Sela and her partner(s) had been paid in advance, which would be unusually foolish even for Odin.

"You kidnap people for a living, and I'm sure that you sell information," Arthur deadpanned.

"Only for the right price to the right buyer."

"You may face the headman for this crime," Arthur said. "The kidnapping of a noble's daughter."

"Ward."

"Adopted, but daughter nonetheless." Arthur took a breath before continuing. "If you were to aid us in following her, we would take that into account."

An arched eyebrow was his only answer, and he swept out of the dungeons.

Gwaine was waiting just outside, leaning against the cold stone wall with his arms crossed. "She's a bounty hunter," Arthur said. "Working for king Odin, as far as I can guess."

"And Morgana?"

"Most likely Sela was hoping for an extra bounty of some kind."

"She didn't tell you any of this did she?"

"Not directly, no."

"Hmm."

"What did you get out of the armoured men?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing. They're cheap for-hire mercenaries: the armour was given to them for taking up the job with Sela and her accomplice, though they were approached by the accomplice, a man who called himself 'Fortaj Dei'Mone'." The frustration Gwaine was feeling was evident. "It's a rather foreign name, and obviously an alibi of some kind."

"We will find Yara, Gwaine," Arthur said, clasping his knight's shoulder. "I promise you that."

"I don't doubt it for a second," Gwaine said with a smile, clasping Arthur's forearm in a show of camaraderie.

"We'll start by sending patrols out towards Odin's land, that is most likely the direction in which she was taken."

"Shall I take Elyan and Percival with me?" Arthur almost smiled at his forward tone, the one that meant 'I'm going to do whatever I want and you can't stop me'.

"With my blessing."

 _ **Yara POV**_

She still hadn't regained the feeling in her legs (or magic) when she was dumped unceremoniously from the sack into a metal cage in the back of a horse-drawn cart. She pulled herself away from the open door and her captor, tired and miserable and sad. And just a little scared. But just a little. Now that she could see the man, she set herself to studying his face. His hair was light blond, and gathered into a ponytail that fell between shoulders at least as broad as Percival's. His eyes were a cold green that looked at her disinterestedly as his mouth leered at her, showing crooked, but white, teeth. His nose was long, but a bit crooked, as if it had been broken at some point. He slammed the metal door closed with a very loud clang, locking it as he moved to the front of the cart.

The cart lurched forward, wheels grinding against the rocks and grit on the path. Yara watched as the last of the city of camelot disappeared, swallowed up by trees. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly along with the cart, and she had to concentrate to keep her last meal inside her stomach. It was foolish to hope for a hunting group or patrol of knights to notice anything, especially after her captor threw a blanket over the cage, but one could have hope, right? If there was anything the last few weeks had taught her, it was that anything could happen. Within reason, And it was reasonable to assume that the knights of Camelot would come after the daughter of one of them. Right? From what she knew it was. Then again . . . .

But no. Her father at least, would come after her. If she tried to escape herself, she may upset whatever plan was concocted. If there was a plan. It hadn't exactly been long since she'd been captured, the sun was only just going down.

Stretching out her senses, she could just touch her magic, but it was like trying to hold water with her bare hands, it just kept trickling through her fingers. And she still couldn't feel her legs. With a sigh, Yara tried to make herself comfortable. This would be a long night.

 **A/N: How is everyone? I hope you're liking this story, the plot will get thicker in the next chapter, things will be explained. :) I think. I'm almost, but not quite, done with it. This coming week is tech week for the play, which means 5-hour practices, which translates to less writing time. After next weekend though I might have more time. Here's hoping.**


	7. The Druid

**A/N: So yeah . . . now starts the major plot. Um . . . I'll be honest, I didn't know that this was the plot until I finished this chapter.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** **mersan123** **, one of the two reviewers of the last chapter. Come on guys, let's get the review number up there ^ to read 41. Please?**

 _ **Yara POV**_

The old castle that the man stopped at a few hours later was a crumbling mess of stones that appeared as if out of nowhere. It would be impossible to find on accident unless one were to sprout wings and fly.

Another man came out to meet them, Yara couldn't get a good enough look at his face from where she crouched on the cage bottom peering through the crack between dark fabric and wooden cart bottom, but he had the same build as her captor.

"Any problems Fortaj?"

"Sela was captured as planned if the gossip of peasants is anything to go by; hopefully she was able to plant false seeds in the young king's mind as to who ordered us to take the girl. Verniet should be able to free her quickly, I'd say to get to the rendezvous in two days, make sure no one followed them."

"And the Seer-Woman?"

"We took this one first, and the only gossip about the Seer is that she has not attacked yet; King Arthur and his Warlock are better at keeping secrets than we thought."

"Have you given any more thought to how to get to that boy?"

"The Warlock is powerful, to take him we will need an elaborate distraction. We modified the plan concerning the Seer, Verniet was able to make quite the potion. I do not think that it will turn out to be all too difficult."

"What does the Seer have to do with the Warlock?" the other man's voice sounded confused.

"Verniet and Sela think that the two are in love," snorted Fortaj. "But let us speak of such things where other ears cannot hear, Sardor."

"Indeed." The cart jerked as it began moving again, and Yara watched with big eyes from underneath the blanket as she passed between towering ruins of stone walls. The sound of an iron portcullis being lowered sent a bolt of fear through her as she began processing the discussion she had heard.

Sela was feeding Arthur false leads, which severely damaged her hopes of being rescued. A seer, probably Morgana, had been most likely poisoned, and these men were after her and Merlin.

The sun was setting when Fortaj whipped off the cloth covering her cage and opened the door, and Yara was starting to get some feeling back in her legs, but still no magic. She fought the man as he pulled her out, lashing out with her small fists, trying to find those sweet spots that would make his legs as numb as hers had been until very recently. But he twisted away from her with ease and slung her over his shoulder. She beat at his broad back with a yell of frustration as he carried her into the castle that was a lot less dilapidated up close than it had looked from the glances she had gotten of it.

"Yell yourself hoarse little Enchantress, no-one's gonna hear you," said the man Fortaj had called Sardor.

She pushed herself up using her captive's back as support and snarled at the man as he walked along behind them. He was a big man with loose black hair that fell around his shoulders and a small goatee of the same color. His dark brown eyes were faintly amused as he looked at her, and his gait spoke of overconfidence, a weakness if ever there was one. Still, she was rather stuck where she was for the time being. She had no magic, and the hairpins that she may have been able to use on a lock if she got the chance seemed to have been removed.

"We'll have to put her with the Druid," grunted Fortaj as they descended towards what Yara supposed was the dungeon.

"Fine," Sardor grunted. "I have ordered the materials necessary for more magic-suppression."

"We'll need it all if the Warlock is as powerful as the Druid seems to think he is," Fortaj said as he stepped off the stairs.

"Hm." The torches in this dungeon were few and far between, the flickering light on the walls casting looming shadows of her captors on the bare dark-stone walls. She felt the cell, like the one she had spent a few nights in not long ago in Camelot, before she saw it. A kind of cold rippling through her, like a cold wind blowing across the surface of her magic, magic that she still could not reach. The door to the cell squeaked as it opened, and Fortaj shrugged her off of his shoulder and dumped her on the hay-strewn floor like a sack of potatoes. Sardor pulled something from his belt, and Yara scrambled back when she caught sight of the rune-etched cuffs. Her wrists ached, remembering the chafing that she had endured just over a week ago. She bared her teeth as the man snapped the cuffs around her wrists and closed the barred door. She was caged again.

"Who are you?"

Yara turned, surprised. Then again, the men had said that they were putting her with a druid. So . . . "My name's Yara. I'm from Camelot."

"Camelot? You have magic and you live there?" Yara eyed the boy. Well . . . young man, but the curly hair made him seem younger than he probably was. He had a round, boyish face, and striking green-grey eyes. And a half-healed gash on his forehead.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"A while. I lost count of the days after twenty, and I'm not sure even that was correct. No windows, as you can see, and the meals are less than consistent. Why do you live in Camelot?" Not to be distracted, then. Alright.

"The ban on magic was lifted by King Arthur about a week ago." The boy's entrancing eyes widened in surprise.

"How- why- what-?"

"Someone he cared about got hurt by the laws."

"Emrys." It wasn't a question, but there was a fear in this voice that made Yara want to put his mind to rest.

"Emrys is fine now."

"What happened to him?"

"Do you know him outside your people's prophecies?" Yara was curious, but also cautious. Merlin tended to feel uncomfortable when people worshiped him as Emrys, though he bore it well, like a natural-born leader.

"Merlin helped me escape Camelot when I was younger."

"He seems to have a habit of doing that," Yara mused, moving her legs so that she could kneel on the ground rather than sit on it. The boy was taller than she was, probably quite a few winters older as well. She sighed. "Merlin's human-"

"That's debatable," the druid cut in with a smirk.

"Alright," Yara conceded, "but he hurts like a human. Physically and emotionally." She didn't think that this information would be enough for the druid to actually figure out what had happened, but she was pretty sure it was enough to get him to drop the subject. It was. Something occurred to Yara then. It would be rude to continue referring to the boy as simply 'druid'. "What's your name?"

"Mordred."

 **A/N: And . . . look down there!**

 **\/** **It's a pretty review box! Let me know what you think of this**

 **chapter please! If ten of you do this, it's a new chapter that you'll get!**


	8. Morgana and the Well

**A/N: So . . . I'm better at writing dialogue than narrative, but Morgana's on her own. Um . . . think of this chapter as practice then?**

 **Disclaimer: I own my OCs, not Merlin, Morgana, Arthur, Gwen, etc. I also don't own the TV show.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** Aaronna , **who wanted to see what was going on in Morgana's dream.**

 _ **Morgana POV**_

Morgana had no idea how she had gotten here. The last thing she remembered was eating in her quarters; now she was in the bottom of a dry well. The speck of light far above her taunted her with the promise of freedom, there weren't even any bars. But the walls were smooth and offered no purchase to her scrabbling grip. The dress she was wearing was torn, and the hem muddy; probably from falling or being shoved or however she ended up in here. Something wet and cold soaked through her slippers, and she jumped, startled.

It was just water. She hoped it was just water. It has hard to see in the darkness, but at least the liquid wasn't warm. It was up to her calves now, rising faster and faster. Morgana would have worried about drowning if the well was much tighter, but she was pretty sure that there was enough space to allow her to stay afloat long enough for the water to propel her up closer to the top. She just hoped that whatever pressure was causing the water to seep through the floor was strong enough to fill the well almost to the top. Also . . . how was this working at all? Was she doing magic without realizing it? Merlin had said that her natural affinity for magic could cause the magic inside her to react to certain stressful situations . . . .

The water was up to her waist now. It was freezing cold; Morgana could feel goosebumps rising on her skin, except where her feet were going numb. Her dress was a sodden weight, heavy on her shoulders. The water was still rising, about halfway up her torso. She had to get out of the dress. Frozen fingers fumbled with clasps that a servant (Gwen- no, Sela-no, that wasn't right either) would normally help with. She missed the simpler gowns she had worn before she had returned to Camelot. Her fingers slipped on small buttons, failing to find enough of a grip to ease them through the small holes. The water was up to her chest now, cold seeping into her bones. With desperation, Morgana yanked at the buttons holding the wet, heavy material together, feeling some relief as they popped out of place. The water was up to her chin by the time she got rid of the weighty fabric, her movements causing the water (pretty sure it was water) to churn slightly, soaking her face with the stuff. She was in just her shift now, the thin material offering absolutely no protection to the cold water, but at least she wasn't weighted down anymore. The water was up to her chin, it wouldn't be long until she'd have to start swimming.

Morgana's arms ached when she finally managed to pull herself out of the well, hard stones scraping against her arms and shift. Something wet and heavy tugged on her bare feet (she had lost the slippers some time ago) as she kicked them, trying to get the extra momentum to get over the low stone wall. Her dress. Apparently, the pressure underground was enough to push the dress up along with the water, the level of which continued to rise as Morgana flopped out onto dry, hard-packed dirt. She took a few moments to get her breath back and let her burning muscles rest before getting to her knees as the water began to spill over the top of the mossy gray stones. Reaching into the water, Morgana dragged out her sodden gown. She might be needing it soon, if only for the fabric. Her slippers were long gone, so she used the knife clasped to her belt (lucky she had that, really. She didn't seem recall it being there earlier) to rip the hem of the dress and wrap the thick fabric around the soles of her feet. The wrappings would offer at least some protection.

Looking around at the small clearing and surrounding forest, Morgana didn't recognize where she was. It was nowhere in Camelot, that much she knew. How in the name of the Goddess had she ended up here? She could not remember, but as water slopped over the side of the well, her attention was diverted.

" _Ӕwielm áebbian_ ," she said with a gesture, and the water calmed and receded. The well looked to be in good condition for being in the middle of a wood, stones clear of vines or cracks; a village must be nearby. But in which direction? There was a locater spell, she knew there was, if she could just remember it . . . .

" _Onfindan ende_." Nothing. Were there no people near enough? Actually, since she hadn't felt her magic, it was more likely that she had forgotten parts of the spell. Her head was still woozy from waking up in the bottom of a dark well, and to be honest, she'd been a little nervous about using her magic lately. Once she came entirely back to herself and realized that she had been playing into Uther's stereotypes of magic. And she had thought that she understood political maneuvering. She'd been such a child.

Staying here wasn't really an option, so Morgana picked a direction and started walking, gripping the dagger in her dominant hand tightly. The forest was darker than any forest she knew other than in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, and it felt just as cold. Goose bumps erupted down her arms, and she wished she had spent more time in the clearing to dry her dress. She would use a drying spell, but she didn't want to accidently set the fabric on fire. The skin on the back of her neck prickled, and Morgana spun on the spot. There was a rustling in the undergrowth, causing her eyes to flit from side to side, but she saw nothing. It was then that Morgana noticed that she had gotten further into the trees than she had thought; the clearing was out of her sight now. More rustling, and Morgana felt her magic rise up, power in her fingertips. Her breath was still for a moment then, and her ears rung with silence.

Then, an explosion of motion as five creatures -bigger than seemed reasonable given the stealth from moments before- leapt for her, claws longer than her dagger reaching for her. A scream of surprise and no small amount of fear ripped itself from her throat as her magic burst from inside her. The creatures were thrown against nearby trees, yelping like much smaller creatures when they connected with cracks that almost made Morgana wince in sympathy, except that the creatures had attempted to have her for their mid-day meal. That dampened any kind of sympathy she might have for any injuries they received.

One of the creatures got up, whining, and staggered around on three legs holding one huge paw up in the air. It stood as tall at the shoulder as she was. Morgana readied another blast of air, but the creature, so unlike anything she had ever seen with it's huge size, green fur, flat head, and bald, rat-like tail, simply staggered away. The others did not move, unconscious or caught in death's arms she wasn't sure, but she didn't want to stay to find out.

 **A/N: So, if any of you guys have ideas as to what could happen in Morgana's dream, PM me or leave it in a review. I'm looking for ideas. Have a wonderful day (or night, depending on when you're reading this)!**


	9. Meditation

**A/N: I made a playlist of songs for Yara's character. It doesn't have much in it at the moment, but it's on youtube. The playlist name is Yara Mair.**

 **This Chapter is dedicated to new reader** ellie77.

 **Yara POV**

Mordred was an interesting character. He had moments where he sat quietly against the cold stone wall, meditating as Yara had seen her mother do when she was little. Then, he would move suddenly to do exercises that she had seen the knights do in Camelot.

"You're a druid," she said on, she thought, the second day. But for all she knew, it could still have been the first or the third. Her grumbling stomach certainly said that it had been a while since she had eaten. "Why do you do those exercises?"

"I'd like to be a knight someday," was the earnest answer.

A knight. The peaceful druid wanted to be a knight. Yara would have laughed at that if she had wanted to hurt his feelings. But she didn't, so she kept quiet. "Perhaps in Camelot?"

"I . . . I don't think that I could ever fight against Emrys and the Once and Future King," Mordred said quietly, coming down from his handstand against the wall. "And now that Camelot allows magic . . . maybe I could try there."

"You'd be one of the first magical knights, that's for sure. Also, there's still going to be some prejudice toward magic. Particularly from the guards."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Speaking from experience?"

Yara shrugged. "My adoptive father is one of the best sword fighters in the kingdom. He sometimes bests the King, so the others try not to offend him too much. Rather, I've observed some, ah, roughness from certain guards regarding druids and openly magical people."

"What do most of the people think?"

"Well, the people of the lower town certainly celebrated long enough about it, and most of the knights have been helpful in spreading the word on their patrols and such. And apart from those few, the guards seem happy not to have sorcerers in the dungeons. I don't spend a lot of time with nobles, but I think the former council aren't particularly happy about the King finally making his own decisions." Footsteps from outside, echoing against the stark stone walls, caused Yara to back against the wall with Mordred, suddenly nervous. The man, Fortaj, who seemed to be the muscle of the two men Yara knew to be here, appeared with a plate. _Food? Oh_ , Yara thought, _please let it be food!_

And indeed, when the plate was slipped through a barely opened door and deposited inside, it held bread and cheese and two apples, and was accompanied by two tin cups full of clear water. "That's a lot of good food for a couple of prisoners," Yara noted.

"They want us to fight for them," Mordred said as the man left, heavy footsteps echoing off the stark walls. "We aren't much use to them half-starved."

"But . . .why? Why do they want us?"

Mordred shrugged. "Magic. Why else?"

"But . . . why _us_? They came after me and Merlin and Morgana specifically. I heard them say something to that effect."

Mordred shook his head. "I have no idea why it would be us in particular, unless it's because of our proximity to Emrys. Merlin saved me when I was just a boy, he saved you not long ago, Morgana and he were friends, and Merlin _is_ Emrys."

"Oh!" Yara said, noticing something. "Morgana isn't evil."

"Um . . . pretty sure she is . . ."

"No no no, apparently she was under some sort of spell. Morgause apparently didn't think that familial ties would be enough to get Morgana on her side. But when Morgause died, her spell began to fade."

Mordred shook his head, a smile stretching across his face as he took a piece of cheese. "Well, aren't you a bringer of good news?"

The food was quite good, even if the bread was a bit stale. Yara sat on the ground as she ate, glad that she had at least been abducted in trousers rather than one of the annoying bulky skirts that she didn't think she'd ever get used to. They ate quickly and it didn't take them long to clean the plate, hungry as they both were.

Then Mordred went back to quietly meditating. Bored, Yara supposed that meditating was as good a way as any to pass the time. Settling herself into a comfortable position straight-backed in the middle of the room, she closed her eyes and evened her breathing. Just as she was beginning to enter that trance-like feeling that came with druidic meditation, she felt something brush against her mind.

Surprised, Yara jolted away from her fugued state to see Mordred gazing at her. "You can sense me when I seek entrance into your mind," he stated.

"And you can enter people's' minds."

"Touché."

"Why did you want to enter my mind?"

"I can talk to people in their minds. It keeps conversations private."

"I think you can do more that just that."

"I . . ." Mordred looked unsure. "I mean with my power yes, I . . . I could. But I don't," he was quick to add. "I really don't like controlling people. It . . . scares me." He said it as if admitting to a dirty secret, ashamed.

"Being afraid of the power inside you can be a good thing until you have your morality set one on path," Yara said. "All of the 'not being afraid of yourself' stuff is completely wrong. When you have great power, it's normal to be a bit afraid of it. Keeps you from using it too much before you know who you are."

She sank back into her meditative trance. This time when she felt the questioning tendral of consciousness, she let it in. She expected to feel the magic when it entered her mind, but there was nothing other than a kind of awareness of Mordred in the back of her head.

 _Hello._

 _This is weird_ , Yara thought at the warm part of her mind that was Mordred.

A laugh resonated in her mind. _That seems to be the general consensus._

 _How can you do this without magic?_

 _We're both meditating. Yes, this cell blocks magic, but when we fall into the meditating trance I am able to use the ambient magic in the air to send my thoughts and receive yours. It takes more effort than normal, apparently._

 _Apparently?_

 _Well,_ Mordred thought, defensive, _it's not like I've been in this position before. Magic-blocking metals aren't widely used in most parts of the world._

Which, Yara supposed absently, was true.


	10. The Winds of Change

**A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you're having a good day. If not, maybe this chapter will help cheer you up? It's kind of filler, but there may be a few good things in here somewhere . . .**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** **Essylt** **, who gave me the idea for what will be befalling Morgana in the Dreamworld. Thank you, lovely person!**

 **And to all my lovely reviewers, cookies! (::) (::) (::) (::) They're chocolate chip. Sorry, I ran out of butterscotch . . . .**

 **Morgana POV**

The wind tugged at her hair and her dress, billowing her skirt around her legs, making her stumble. The forest she had been in earlier had given way quickly to a grassy plain, and with nothing better to do, Morgana had walked straight out into it. Which, as it turned out, had been a mistake. At first it was a breeze, which had been a tad annoying, chilling as it was against her damp skin. But as the breeze finally began to dry her, picking up speed, she began to get a bit worried. The grass bent with the wind; serfs bowing before a lord. Which was apt, she supposed, as the wind tugged on her more insistently, trying to push her to the side. Because if the grass didn't bend, the force of the wind would surely snap it without noticing.

It had been a long time since Morgana had allowed herself to hate what nobility stood for. The way that one life was worth more than another simply due to birth. Perhaps she'd been disillusioned by Uther's tyranny and Morgause's mind control, but this system of monarchy seemed to be failing.

She was dragged out of her musings as the wind picked up speed and Morgana had to lean into the wind to avoid being bowled over. Maybe once she got into the forest the wind would die down. She turned back, hoping to go back into the forest behind her, retrace her steps and simply skirt around the windy moore. But . . . turning around and around, long hair whipping around her face and getting into her mouth, she saw no sign of trees except in the direction she had been heading. And now even those seemed to be wavering, as if she was viewing them through a heat haze in the midst of a terrible summer.

She started running, putting as much effort as she could into reaching the trees before they, too, disappeared. But the wind was strengthening, pushing against her, and it was all she had to push forward barely a step. The trees in front of her wavered, flickered, and blinked out of sight. Now everywhere she looked was brown grasses flattened by the ground by the howling gale and a white-blue sky. Her dress tangled around her ankles, tattered edges snapping at her feet, which were scratched raw despite the cloth wrapped around them.

Morgana turned so that the strong wind was at her back and began running, letting the wind speed her up, even as her skirts made her stumble. But as far as she got, never was there more on the horizon than flattened grass. Then she tripped and fell, rolling through the grass with the momentum from the wind. The wind was getting stronger and stronger, pushing her down as she attempted to get back on her feet. Morgana was sure by now that the wind was no more natural than the disappearance of the trees. Then, as if she weighed no more than an insect, Morgana was picked up out of the grass by the wind and tossed around, pushed in one direction and then the other. Her dress was just too cumbersome, but in this wind, she was helpless as a rag doll. There had to be a spell. Something to stop the wind or slow it down or teleport herself somewhere else. But she couldn't _think_ , couldn't concentrate! Not with all of the chaos everywhere. There was something inherently hopeless about her situation, and with a sigh, Morgana closed her eyes and went limp.

 _ **Gwen POV**_

Morgana had developed a low fever hours ago, and still there was nothing to be found in any of the books. Gwen had offered her assistance, and sat by Morgana's side with a cool cloth while Merlin and Gaius looked through book after book after book until both appeared ready to drop dead from exhaustion. She would have been worried about them if she didn't know that there was more to the two men than met the eye.

"Gaius, what about this one?"

The elder man took the book from Merlin's hands, reading briefly before raising his eyebrow at his ward. "That would be very dangerous, Merlin. And there is no guarantee that you could find her. Dream worlds can be quite extensive and ever-changing."

"But Gaius, she's already got a fever that could get worse at any moment, and we've been through more books than I knew we had. This might be our best chance. I can only assume that it will only become more difficult the longer we wait!"

Refreshing the cloth on Morgana's clammy forehead, Gwen stood and walked to stand at Merlin's side. "What is it?" she asked.

"Merlin is hoping to enter the Dream world himself to wake Morgana," Gaius said, looking for all the world like a disapproving grandfather. "Which, since he is no more trained in these matters than Morgana is, could be suicide."

"But Morgana is an instinctive seer if ever there was one," Merlin interjected. "She likely isn't quite aware that she's dreaming. If she knows that, she should be able to find a way to get out of it."

"She doesn't understand the theory any more than you do, Merlin," Gaius said.

"I didn't have any actual knowledge of how magic worked when I first came here," Merlin countered, "But I used it to save your life all the same."

"That was different!" Gaius said, exasperated, looking imploringly to Gwen. "That was an instinctive use of magic in a slightly stressful, real-world situation!"

"Do we have any idea what is happening in the dream?" Gwen asked.

"It is different for every person," Gaius said, setting the book down on the crowded table. "But as the Lady Morgana does seem to be feverish, it is safe to assume that it is dangerous."

"Which is why we need to help her now," Merlin insisted. "Before it gets any worse than it already is. If she was going to find her own way out of the Dream world, would she not have done so by now?"

Gaius sighed. "If she gets any worse and we have found no other way, then we can use this. But only if she gets worse!" The stern eyes focused on Merlin would have quelled most people, but Merlin held his mentor's gaze stubbornly before nodding tersely and going back to the stack of books at his side.

Gwen returned to her vigil at Morgana's bedside.

"You'll be Queen of Camelot soon," came a voice from the doorway. "You don't need to be doing that."

"Well," Gwen said, turning to smile at Arthur. "We haven't had the best of luck with servants around Morgana lately, and someone needs to be here. You had duties to attend to," she added sternly when he opened his mouth.

A young boy ducked around the king, a tray full of food from the kitchens in his hands. "Cook said to bring this down," the boy said, gazing resolutely at his scuffed shoes.

"Thank you Harris, run along now, there's a good lad," Gaius said as he took the tray from the boy. Harris scampered off, bowing awkwardly to Arthur as he left.

"Have you found anything Merlin?" Arthur asked, stepping further into the room. "Yes," Merlin said, glancing at Gaius. "But it would be dangerous to attempt. We'll use it if we can find no other way."

"How dangerous?"

"Deadly dangerous," Gaius said, peering at Arthur with narrowed eyes. "And only someone with considerable magic skills could undertake the journey." Arthur's lips thinned. "You ought to eat, Merlin," Gaius said. "I had the food brought here for Gwen and yourself."

"Hm," was Merlin's response as he began leafing through another old, thick tombe. Gwen took the tray up and set it on the table next to Morgana's cot. Arthur raised an eyebrow at her; probably wondering why she was accepting Merlin's self-destructive tendencies. She smirked back at him as she situated a second stool on the other side of the table from hers and crossed to where Merlin was focused on the book. With a smile, Gwen plucked it from his hands, holding it as high as she could.

"Gwen," he whined, taking a swipe at the book, but she skipped back a step.

"Come on, Merlin," she said. "You need to eat!" so saying, she plopped the book down on the table. Grumbling, Merlin turned back to the stack of books at his elbow, only to have Arthur's hand land on the top one. Gwen didn't have to see Arthur's face to know that her love was looking quite sternly at his friend.

"Fine," Merlin said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Fine, you bunch of mother hens!"

"Mother hens?" Arthur asked, bemused.

"You never lived on a farm," Merlin said. "That is an actual thing. It means you're being overbearing. Like a mother hen to her chicks."

"So that's not one of your made up terms then," Arthur said, standing back as Merlin got to his feet.

"None of them are made up," Merlin said, making an affronted face.

"Sure," Arthur said, smiling as Merlin grabbed an apple.

 **A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you're all having a good day. Remember: you are the sum of all your choices up 'till now, and you're here reading this fanfic. Whatever else it says about you, you are literate, and have a grasp of the English language. Which is a very odd language. Anyway . . . . Review? Pretty please.**


	11. Dying Isn't Allowed

**A/N: Well . . . this was an extra update. I guess this is what happens when I go without wifi. I write and write and write and just don't STOP. (Also, this chapter title is a little melodramatic).**

 **This chapter is dedicated to the lone reviewer. Thank you, lovely Guest!**

 **Arthur POV**

Merlin was working himself to the bone. As he watched Merlin eating food, Arthur took note of the dark circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin. Gaius had been insisting that Merlin rest until he was more certain that his blood had been replenished. This stress could not be good for him. But what could Arthur do about it? Sure, he was the king, but Merlin had never listened to him as his servant, there was no way he'd take an order he didn't want to as court sorcerer. Gwen seemed as worried as he was, if the way she watched Merlin like a hawk was any indication. The boy was still flipping through the book as he ate, not paying attention to his surroundings.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Arthur asked.

"Uh, sure," was the distracted reply.

"He slept in his old rooms for a few hours, Sire," Gaius supplied. Merlin threw his mentor a betrayed look, then went back to the pages in front of him. It fell silent after that, and Arthur shifted from foot to foot, feeling ill at ease, out of his depth. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, and excused himself after asking to be alerted if there were any developments. He contemplated going back to his chambers, but he really didn't feel like doing paperwork or seeing more of his new servant. Not that he disliked the boy, but he was no Merlin. Things had changed quite a lot in the past week and a half, and it would take some getting used to. At this hour, the training fields held the greatest appeal.

The grassy clearing was empty at this time in the evening; most people were eating dinner or conversing with friends. Or getting drunk in the tavern, but those people were most likely eternally drunk. Arthur spun the practice sword a few times, getting used to the weight of it in his hands. He concentrated on all of the emotions he wanted- needed- to release; Worry over Morgana and Yara, Worry over Merlin, the past week and a half's pent-up fear over what had happened to his former servant, nerves over how Camelot would truely work as a magical kingdom. All of the frustration that he could do nothing to shape any of the outcomes he actually cared about. The dummy wouldn't stand a chance.

When he was done hacking at the straw, when his body was tired and his mind drained, when the sun was well below the horizon, Gwen came out into the yard. Instantly, Arthur paused. Gwen looked as tired as he felt, and resigned. Arthur felt his throat go dry. "What has happened?" He was proud that his voice did not croak like a frog's.

"Morgana's fever is getting worse. Gaius thinks that it could become life-threatening some time tonight." Gwen's voice was tight. She was scared for Morgana, perhapse, but Arthur wasn't as unobservant as Merlin had often accused him of being. He knew that she did not trust Morgana as much as he himself did, and Gwen cared the most about those she trusted. So there was something else as well. Deadly dangerous.

"Merlin's going after her?" Arthur's voice almost cracked at the end of his question. Gwen nodded.

"He cares about her, Arthur. People do stupid things for those they care about."

"Especially people like Merlin," Arthur said blankly, setting the sword on the rack and toweling his sweaty hair dry.

"He wants you there," Gwen said as they began walking. "As much as your duty will allow you."

"That's-"

"Uncharacteristic?" his love offered. "He thinks that having you there as an anchor will help him pull Morgana out of the Dream."

"An anchor?" They were whispering in the torch-lit hallways. Arthur wasn't quite sure why, except that louder voices would be a shock between silent stone walls.

"As I understand it, he knows you and his magic knows you well enough that he can find you, even from the Dreamworld."

Gwen opened the physician's doors when they reached them, and Arthur's eyes had to adjust to the weak light given off by the candles spread about the small space and the steam rising from a small pot minded by Gaius. Merlin was arranging a second cot next to Morgana's, every so often brushing the back of his long-fingered hand across her brow. Gaius called for a vial and Gwen quickly made one available to the old physician.

"We'll need to wait for this to cool-" Gaius said, but Merlin interrupted him.

"Would it affect it at all if I used magic to cool it?"

"Merlin . . ." Gaius sighed. "No, that is actually what was done before the purge."

"How long will it be before it takes effect?" Merlin asked as he cupped the vial in one hand.

"You are already quite tired, so not long at all, I would presume," said Gaius as Merlin's eyes flashed gold and the steam rapidly dissipated.

"Remember, there is no 'cure' or smelling salt that will bring you out of this sleep. You must find a way to do that yourself. You should be near Morgana once you are a part of the Dreamworld, and likely in great perril. And if-"

"I know Gaius," Merlin said gently. "We've been over all of it multiple times." Taking the vial, Merlin sat on the cot. "Arthur? Could you . . ."

There was something about Merlin's voice, not scared exactly, but it held a quavering quality that perhapse was there due to nerves. Arthur moved to where Merlin was licking his lips, staring at the golden liquid in the glass bottle. "Are you sure about this?" he murmured. Deadly dangerous.

"I'm frightened, actually," Merlin said quietly, still looking only at the potion. "But this is the only thing to do."

"We can find another way." Arthur noted that both Gaius and Gwen were standing conversing by the door, giving them privacy.

"Morgana doesn't have that much time." Why was it that Merlin could go so quickly from counting Morgana as enemy to friend? Or maybe more than friend? Had his affections for Morgana stayed even as she tried to destroy Camelot? "Just . . ." Merlin took a deep breath, as if unsure about something. "Stay here 'till I fall asleep?"

It was all a little too much for Arthur. This seriousness in the face of danger wasn't like Merlin. "I thought you were braver than most knights of Camelot." He even attempted a smile, trying (vainly) to lighten the mood.

Merlin snorted. "I'd like to see how Sir Eldric would take being sent into another dimension where, more than likely, he would be stuck until it let him go or killed him." Good gods, _Merlin_! Was it his life's goal to cause Arthur a heart attack?

"You won't die," he said fiercly. Then, quietly, he murmured. "I'll be right here the whole time." Merlin nodded gratefully, and downed the potion in one gulp. For a moment, the brunette's breath seemed to stutter, and Arthur's heart leapt into his throat. Then, Merlin slummped forward. Arthur caught him under the arms, laying him back on the cot as gently as he could. Gaius and Gwen hurried over, the old man pressing fingers to the warlock's neck at the pulse point.

"He's asleep," Gaius said. "There's nothing to do now but wait."

 **A/N: I hope you liked the chapter. The different facets of the plot are starting to coalesce. Finally.**

 **p.s. I really do love reviews . . .**


	12. Knowledge is Power

**A/N: I hope you like this chapter . . . I came to the realization that Morgana's been OOC this whole time, so I'm trying to remedy that a little in this chapter. Anyways . . . I might be updating more frequently now . . . I'm off to college in a month, and I kinda WANT to be done with this story by then . . . but this plot doesn't want a quick ending so . . . I'm getting as much done as I can.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to reviewer** **Mojito737** **, Thank you SO much for reviewing!**

 _ **Merlin POV**_

The potion worked even faster than he had expected, and the last thing Merlin felt before darkness took him was Arthur catching him, warm and steady. An anchor. Then, it was suddenly bright all around him. And hot. Very, very, hot.

Smoke. Smoke and heat and fire. Merlin felt panic well up inside him and his lungs seized up, rebelling against the smoke accidently inhaled. He pushed himself up, eyes flickering, looking for daylight, moonlight, anything to move towards that wasn't flame and smoke. But there was nothing, and he just had to get out, out, OUT! He pulled up his neckerchief to cover his mouth and nose, trying not to breathe in any more smoke, stumbling over shapes concealed in the smoke and flickering shadows. Something heavy fell to the floor directly behind him, and Merlin cried out in surprise and fear as he was plunged downward and shrouded in sparks and then tongues of flame were licking at his skin, and it hurt worse than he thought it would, even in his worst nightmares. He yelled again as his skin blistered, heat searing itself across his arms and legs where he had fallen.

And then rain. Sweet, glorious rain pouring down, even as Merlin felt his magic retreating back into himself. It had been a long time since his magic had acted on its own like that, but he couldn't be more grateful for it as he lay there, weak and in pain and allowed himself a moment of rest before examining his injuries.

The fire had extinguished in geysers of steam, the heat of which made an effort at drying Merlin, who had been soaked to the skin by the downpour, which was just now letting up. His burned-tight skin protested as he heaved himself over so that he was laying on his back, rather than his stomach. The ceiling still held glowing embers, which faded in the drizzle. Merlin's breath was thin with pain, he could feel his mouth gaping with the phantom need for air.

"Merlin!" And there was Morgana, hair wild, dress damp, feet shoeless, and hands a shiny red. Burned. And still one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen.

"Hi."

She laughed, relief coloring her features. "You're the first person I've seen since I woke up in the well! How did you get here?"

"This is the Dreamworld, Gaius made a potion so that I could find you," Merlin said, wincing as he put too much weight on painful burns.

"You're hurt!" Morgana said, hovering uncertainly with her hands held out, but her hands looked burned worse than Merlin's arms and legs.

"So are you," he said hoarsely.

"I hardly feel it at all," Morgana admitted. "I cast a spell for healing, but it didn't do much, so I cast a spell to block out the pain."

"Not always a good idea, but in this situation, probably for the best," Merlin conceded. He knew the pain-dampening spell, but had rarely had reason to use it. It was really only ever to be used when there was no way to treat your injuries while you were in life-or-death situations. Which this could be classified as. Merlin gathered his magic, and sent it through his body with a silent command. Once he could stand again, he did so, closing his eyes against the retaliatory dizziness. "We have to get out of here," he said. "If we die here, we're dead in the waking world as well."

"And if we're injured here?"

"The more danger we are in, the worse our fever gets there, but the injuries will not show up in the waking world until we're conscious." The drizzle had given way to a light mist, which settled on Merlin's skin, cooling it. "Do you know if there's an exit to the outside?" Morgana shook her head.

"This world does not conform to the laws of nature. I started at the bottom of a well and the last thing I remember is being in a field after the trees disappeared, surrounded by wind fit to pull apart a building sounder than this." That explained her damp and windblown appearance then. "And then I'm in the middle of a raging fire that's put out in a few moments by the rain. I'm assuming that was you."

Merlin nodded. "Well," he said, looking around at the fragile walls around them. "If we walk in one direction, we're bound to come across an opening to the outside eventually."

"Or simply end up somewhere else entirely," Morgana muttered.

"Let's try to think positively," Merlin said, walking out of the door. The floor beneath his feet creaked ominously, and Merlin wondered whether there was another floor below them. The hallway was wide, wide enough that he was relatively sure that this was a large structure. It would take a while to get to the outside, particularly if they were a few floors up. Okay, so, positive thinking wasn't his forte. That was to be expected, really.

"You said we should leave the Dreamworld," Morgana said from where she was still standing. "How do we accomplish that, exactly?"

"My magic is anchored to the waking world. If the Dreamworld weakens at all, I can pull us back."

"Weakens?"

"It . . . well, it's stronger because I actually _am_ tired, but once my body in the waking world has some energy, I should be able to pull us back."

"I'm not liking all of those 'should bes' and 'maybes'" Morgana cut him off.

"They're all I can-" Merlin started, but Morgana kept talking over him.

"You should be more confident in your own abilities. You are so very powerful, Merlin, you can do more than you know."

"You spent time with the Druids, Morgana," Merlin said, turning to continue through the hallway. "I know they make me out to be this, all-knowing, all-powerful savior, but I'm only human."

"Apparently you're immortal," Morgana disagreed as she caught up to him, looking askance at the wall as it creaked ominously.

"That aside," Merlin said, turning down another corridor- one not blocked by burned and blackened supports, "I'm not actually any more knowledgeable than any other man who spent a few years living with a physician."

"But you are more powerful."

"Knowledge is power," Merlin said, looking resolutely ahead. "If I have all of the power inside of me that those prophecies allude to, it's all useless if I don't know how to use it."

They are quiet for a time. "I'm a priestess of the Old Religion," Morgana says slowly. "That may have happened while I was under a spell, but I will not relinquish it. Perhaps I do not deserve it and the confidence that it can inspire inside of me, but it is also a part of who I am now." They reach a window, but it much too far above the ground outside to think about jumping. Morgana leans against the glass, looking down. "I've been trying to separate who I was before Morgause and who I was while I worked with her. But I can't live like that."

"Don't try to be anyone," Merlin says, watching her intently. "Just be who you want to be." Morgana smiled at him, walking away from the window to twine her fingers with his.

"Thank you, Merlin," she said, and that was when the window exploded.

 **A/N: Please review! I get a lot more into a story if I know that the readers are into it as well, and the muse for this one is . . . kinda asleep? As in . . . has been asleep basically since the beginning? The reviews help me kinda poke it into doing something. So thank you to any reviewers!**


	13. Basically, a Whole Bunch of Odd Things

**A/N: Here's another chapter! Sorry, it's a bit of a filler, but the plot will pick up the pace in the next chapter. (I get the feeling I've said that before . . .)**

 **This chapter is dedicated to the reviewer** **, thank you so much for your lovely review! I'm glad you're enjoying the story.**

 **Morgana POV**

Merlin pulled her down and against the wall as glass exploded towards them, sharp edges flashing dangerously. For a moment, in her shock, the pain of badly burned hands came back to her, and she drew in a pained gasp.

"Morgana? Are you hurt?" Merlin sounds worried, and she can't help the slight smile that touches her mouth as he appears in front of her, bright blue eyes worried. Merlin was such a sweet person, always making sure of others' health before thinking of his own.

"You're bleeding, Merlin," she said gently once the pain in her hands was gone again, wiping at the cut gently with the cloth of her sleeve. "I'm fine." He helped her up, looking past her in some confusion. Morgana turned to look at the window, or, rather, where it used to be. Now, it's blocked with something that looks suspiciously like dirt. She steps closer and reaches out to touch it. It _is_ dirt, and a few grains of black trickle onto her burned hand. And then, just like that, it's gone. She felt her eyes widen in surprise as she looked out over what was probably normally a relatively flat grassy plain, like the one she had somehow escaped. The ground was . . . writhing, in some places, appearing to shoot up into a column of dirt.

"What-" Merlin's voice was weak, and Morgana cut her eyes to look at him, where he stood with his mouth slightly agape.

"This world makes no sense," Morgana reminded him as she turned away from the hole in the wall. "We need to go down a few levels, find an exit at ground level."

The wooden floor beneath her feet creaked ominously, and the entire building seemed to groan. "This place is burned to the bones," Merlin warned her, hand on her upper arm. "I already fell through a floor, it didn't feel great."

"So . . .?" asked Morgana. There wasn't much they could do if they didn't move from their current spot.

"We can exit from this window," Merlin said, sticking his dark-haired head out the opening. "We just have to catch it at the right time. It's a pattern, sort of." Confused, Morgana joined him at the window.

"What's a pattern?"

"The ground shoots up in a pattern. Look at where it's already happened, one will erupt in a few moments." Indeed, a nearby pile of dirt shot up with a roar, spewing bits of rock and dirt in a circle around it just a few seconds later.

"You want us to jump on the thing that destroyed the window?" Morgana asked, confused.

"Um, yeah, I may not have thought that through," Merlin said. "Which has kind of been my theme recently, apparently." He plucked absently at his sleeve as he gazed over the field of writhing and exploding ground.

"Merlin," Morgana said slowly, drawing him back from the window lest the ground decide to explode upward, "You are a strong person." He gave her a look of confusion, as if he didn't know what she was talking about. She took his hands in hers and gave them a little shake. "These scars do not make you weak. You say that my mistakes make me strong, yours can do the same for you. These are battle wounds, as surely as any scar from a campaign. And while many knights no doubt have those, they have not gone through the fire as you have. You are tempered steel, tougher now than before."

"I . . . I don't want to talk about this right now, Morgana," Merlin said, looking down. "We have more pressing matters on our hands at the moment."

"Alright," she said gently, still holding his hands. "But when you are ready, I'm here. Just like you are for me."

"We're a right mess."

Morgana chuckled quietly. "Now come on," she said. "The floor might take our weight better if we walk next to the walls."

 **Arthur POV**

Barely a moment after Gaius had said that all they could do was wait, Merlin was gripped by a fever. His pale skin beaded with sweat, the boy was tossing and turning, twisting the thin blanket around himself. Arthur did his best to keep Merlin's skin cool as Gwen did the same for Morgana; he sponged the sweat away from his friend's- brother's- brow and tried to keep the sheet from tangling too tightly around his (too skinny) body.

"This may not be my place," Gaius said, looking over his shoulder as he put books back on old shelves. "But when are the two of you going to stop putting off the wedding?"

The question caught Arthur off-guard,and water splashed over the side of the bucket as he accidently dropped the rag into it. "Um . . . I think we both have other things to worry about at the moment," he said, throat oddly dry.

"Well, the people in the lower town are starting to think something may be wrong," Gaius said, returning to his table to pick up more books. "Neither Merlin nor I went on my rounds in the lower town, and both of you have been in here as often as apparently possible. Servants will gossip with anything that moves, and the people are getting worried."

"And a wedding would cheer them up?" Arthur asked, confused.

"You had originally said that the two of you would be married at the end of this week. I think that changing the date would be a bad idea. Of course, if you would wish to wait for a happier time, I entirely understand, but you must know, Arthur, that the people watch you to know the state of affairs in the citadel."

"I suppose that there were a few details about ruling that skipped my father's mind in his fight against magic," Arthur said quietly, absently stroking Merlin's hair so that it didn't fall into his eyes. He needed a haircut.

"Your father was a good king, in his way," Gaius responded. "But yes, he tended to care more for the problem at hand than his peoples' state of mind, which is fine in severe circumstances, but the last thing we need is a panic over a possible war with Odin."

"In being fair to Uther," Gwen said diplomatically, "there usually was cause for some panic."

"Indeed," Gaius intoned, fiddling with a glass bottle. "Indeed, there often seemed to be."

"But in this case, war is not imminent, as we are not even quite sure it _is_ Odin."

Gwen looked confused. "But the maid-"

"She could have been lying to protect whoever it is that she truly works for. As far as we know, whoever that is, they still want Morgana. It would be relatively easy to take her if Camelot was in the middle of a war," Arthur said. He'd been thinking about it. Sela had given away too much, at first hinting at it being Odin, but then stating it outright when he had seemed confused. "I intend to send out a messenger to Sir Gwaine in the morning," he added. "It would be best if our best knights were not off chasing ghosts."

 **A/N: Um . . . my space bar isn't working 100%, so if there are any words that should have a space between them that don't, please let me know in a PM or review (reviewing even if there isn't would be great too). I looked through and didn't find any squished-together words, but I very easily could have missed something. Thank you.**


	14. Fire and Ice

**A/N: I'm MANY days late, and apologize wholeheartedly. I started college last month, and the homework is really bogging me down, because me, in all my genius (she says sarcastically) decided to take 17 credits and a custodial job. And therefor, I have no social life.**

 **Morgana POV**

The floor creaked slightly alarmingly, but this part of the building seemed to have escaped the worst of the fire damage. The floor seemed rather burnt in places, the wood blackened and sagging. This building had a feel of being abandoned, something that made sense in a world where she had seen no-one until Merlin. Merlin. Strong, sensitive, beautiful Merlin. Morgana knew that she had had some feelings for the warlock before everything that had happened, before Morgause, but now? She could hardly tell one emotion from the others.

Merlin kept one hand on her arm, a protective gesture that she would not have appreciated in most cases, she could take care of herself after all, but in this place . . . human contact was a comfort. Her magic was roiling, uneasy. She could feel the shudders that moved through the house as the earth outside exploded and writhed. "If all we need to do is wait for our bodies in the real world to heal, why can't we just stay here?" she said, looking intently at the back of Merlin's head. There was dried blood in his hair, probably from when the window had imploded.

"This world is chasing us," was the response. "From what you've said, it doesn't want us to stay in one place. I wouldn't be surprised if-" Merlin is interrupted as the burnt-out-husk of the mansion shakes, groans, and then there's an explosion of dirt from somewhere behind them, and they're pelted with wood and dirt and other bits of debris. "-that happens," Merlin finishes, somewhat redundantly.

"We need to get out of here!" Morgana could feel a ringing in her ears and her heart pounding against her chest, and only realized her eyes were screwed shut when she opened them to see Merlin looking at her with worried eyes. He locked their hands together and pulled her up from where she was crouching- how had she gotten there?- and they started out down the hall again, moving faster.

The floorboards creaked and groaned ominously as they moved quickly over floorboards that were probably old (providing that the world didn't simply create the house the moment it decided to put her- them, now- into it) were now also burnt and ready to disintegrate. The house shook with dirt explosions three more times before they found a staircase. A rickety, wooden affair that had escaped the worst of the fire damage, but not of aging in general. They sagged in the middle, and a few were broken, but they managed to get to the bottom without falling by testing their steps before they took them. The place shook for the fourth time just as Morgana stepped off of the last step, the stone under her mostly bare feet vibrating.

"We were a few stories up, weren't we?" Merlin asked.

"Yes."

"Then unless the floor slopes, we just reached ground level way before we should have," Merlin said, gesturing her to look out through what used to be a doorway, before the door was burned away, leaving soot and heat on the stone. The door opened out onto a stone staircase that stopped at the bank of a frozen lake. Frozen. When Morgana felt perfectly comfortable in a summer dress. The stone stairs were pockmarked with areas where the ground had exploded, and rubble had been flung about.

They stood there for a moment, watching as area after area was disturbed by violent explosions of earth. "There's no pattern to these," Morgana said after a moment. "We'll have to run and hope." The building shook again as earth erupted somewhere inside it.

"Your feet, Morgana," was as far as Merlin got before she stopped his worrying in its tracks.

"We don't have any choice. And besides, I think we're almost . . . I mean . . ." There was a feeling in her gut, like if they got to the icy lake, they would be fine and it would all be over. "I think we're almost safe."

"I felt safe after the fire was put out," Merlin said quietly, but took her hand in a firm and calloused grip. "We run now, then," he said louder, and pulled Morgana into the sunshine behind him.

There was something invigorating about the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the feeling of Merlin's pulse fluttering from his wrist to her fingertips. A deep rumble went through the ground as it erupted not far behind them, and Morgana laughed in hysterical fear and no small amount of startlement as they were pelted by debris.

Merlin twisted his hand to take her fingers between his own as they reached the frozen shore. The icy surface was both cold and slippery, the light covering of snow drenching the dirty scraps of cloth wound around her feet. Merlin stopped and, in trying to stop with him, Morgana fell flat on her back as her feet slipped out from under her. Or, she would have, had Merlin not reached out to catch her, almost losing his own balance in the process.

"We're safe out here," Merlin said, breath fogging out from his mouth as a cold wind cut across the frozen lake. "For now."

"I imagine the cold will be difficult to circumvent," Morgana said as her teeth began chattering.

Merlin nodded, looking back towards where the shore with the exploding earth used to be. Now it was snowfields in every direction, and no sign of the burnt-out mansion. "We're never getting out of here," Morgana said then, feeling the hope that Merlin's appearance had sheltered flicker and die. "This world won't let us go."

"It will eventually," Merlin said, taking off his coat. "We just have to be alive when it does." Morgana wanted to refuse the coat as he put it around her, her dress was of a heavier material than his shirt, but she was shivering too violently to unclench her jaw. She slid her arms through the too-long sleeves and huddled there, in the middle of an icy wasteland as Merlin peered as far as he could in either direction, kicking aside some of the snow with singed boots. "Can't cast a heat spell or make a fire," he said quietly. "The ice isn't thick enough, and there doesn't appear to be any land nearby."

The breeze died down then, leaving Morgana feeling slightly less frozen. Merlin shivered, a full-body kind of quake and seemed to be suddenly alert. "Did you feel that?" he asked, voice tense with surprise.

"No?" Morgana wasn't sure what Merlin had felt, but his apparent unease was putting her on-guard.

"It was . . . like magic," Merlin said, "But older. More . . . powerful, more chaotic."

"Some kind of beast?"

"Not like any kind I've ever read of or encountered. This feels . . . as old as the land itself." When Merlin looked back at her, his eyes were pure gold. The cold wind cut through the snowscape again, but Merlin seemed unaffected, standing tall and unmoved even as Morgana hunched in his jacket and shivered. He started moving out into the white flatness, away from her. In some panic, _because he couldn't leave her, couldn't have been made by the world, please_ , she reached out to him, latched onto his wrist. That was when the ice beneath them broke.

 **A/N: No-one reviewed the last chapter :'(. I guess it was pretty boring. I promise, only one more chapter of this weird world left. Then the plotlines will come together. I love you all, thanks so much for reading.**


	15. Maiden, Warrior, Mother, Crone

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to** **Tehetehe** **, who asked a very good question regarding Mordred's age. I'd say he's about 14-15-ish.**

 **Morgana POV**

The water was ice-cold, at first. A shock as the breath left her body in a surprised shriek. She kept hold of Merlin's wrist (strong, scarred, still), holding to it with all of her desperate strength, granted to her by the terror that he would leave her alone here, or that he was never really here at all. She has no breath, and only water around her; she was no fish to take water into her lungs and live. She was being tugged by the wrist in her grip, up? Down? Which way? She had no idea. She had little strength in her shock, in her need to breathe, and let it tug her as her clothing tugged her another way, until her face broke the surface of . . . warm water? How, _when_ , had the water become warm? Or was she so cold that it simply felt so?

She was pulled from the water, steadying hands on her elbows helping her out of the water as she coughed and spluttered, looking up at Merlin from behind drenched hair. His still-gold eyes were gazing at her with compassion as he drew her to her feet, drawing her into a hug. "I've got you, you're alright," he said quietly. "We're alright."

"Alright!?" There was hysteria in her voice, which Morgana thought that she was entitled to. "None of this has been 'alright'!"

"Calm yourself, my child," came a voice, and Morgana startled. She looked past Merlin at the three women standing there, under a large tree.

"Who . . ."

"You call us the Triple Goddess, sorceress," said the woman with red hair, who stood between the other two; she appeared to be heavy with child. "Selectively," she went on, "we are known as the Maiden, Mother, and Crone."

The Triple Goddess. Morgana knew she ought to show deference to the being (beings?) before her, but she was wet, and tired, and she would stand on her own two feet if she liked.

"You have been through much, Priestess," said the Maiden, who was possessed of golden hair and pale skin, clad all in pink and white. "You must rest."

"I would like to go home, actually," Morgana said, and was surprised at how steady her voice was. "I did not come into this world of my own free will, and had no answers to seek here, excepting how to return home."

"I think, Morgana, that there is something here you need," Merlin said, golden eyes boring into hers. "You are no more healed from your guilt than I am healed from my own."

"I have come to terms with the things I have done," Morgana said, lifting her chin. But she could feel something crawling its way up her throat, threatening to cut off her voice. _No_ , she thought fiercely, _no, I will not break down. Not here, of all places. Not now, of all times. Not for this, of all reasons._

"You tell yourself you have, but you have yet to forgive yourself, child." This from the eldest of the three women, the Crone. Her pale lips were pursed, and she pointed a wrinkled, slightly gnarled, finger at Morgana. "How can others truly forgive you, if you cannot forgive yourself?"

"I ask no forgiveness for the atrocities I have committed." Morgana said, and she knew it was petulant, but she couldn't stop herself.

"But others do wish to forgive you," Merlin said, beseechingly, holding out his hands to her. "Will you not give us that chance?"

"I-" Morgana wasn't sure what to say. She doesn't deserve forgiveness (particularly coming from Merlin), but she wants it. Yearns for it, or close enough. Particularly from Merlin. Merlin, who she had wronged so deeply, perhaps deeper even than she had wronged Arthur, because she was his kin. She should have been there for him, not left him alone. Alone, in Camelot, full of people he saved and who would have killed him without a second thought in Uther's reign. And that was one thing that she could not feel sorry for. Uther had not belonged in the world of peace Arthur had worked toward. That he was dead brought little sorrow to the world. That magic was legal in Camelot brought much happiness.

"You are a child, too young for your heart to be bowed why that which you could not control," warned the Crone.

"You have a vibrant life, Priestess," implored the Maiden. "You must not closset yourself away!"

"You deserve forgiveness, Morgana," said the Mother, and it sounded like a decree.

"The actions you so hate yourself for were afflicted by another," said the Crone, still looking slightly disapprovingly at Morgana. "Do not take them as actions of which you will be judged when the time comes to read the ledger, child."

"You are our Priestess," said the Maiden. "A part of us. Our warrior-spirit, our vessel in the living world. We cannot have you hobbled by that which you can take no blame for."

"We once had many world-warriors," the Crone said, "and you, Child, will need to relearn their ways and train others. The balance of Life and Death, Sky and Land, Water and Fire, must be held."

Morgana felt her body tighten, as if bracing for the weight being lowered onto her shoulders. Merlin's arm snaked around her waist, as if holding her upright. "You won't have to do this alone," said the Mother. "Our son Emrys will always be there for you."

"Son?" Morgana asked, as Merlin made a confused sound behind her.

"Son . . . is not quite the correct term, not as you know it," the Crone said, thoughtfully. "Perhaps little brother is more accurate. No, I speak falsely. What Emrys is to us is somewhere in between the two. He is of us, but not from us."

"We hold no sway over you, little brother," said the Maiden. "Your magic is your own, you do not have or borrow it at our behest, as do most. Yes, little brother," she continued, "even those such as Morgase gain their power from us. There is as much a balance between your perceived good and evil as there is between life and death. The world right now is full of petty evil and great good, which is wonderful for you, as far as it goes; you must be aware, however, that it will not last."

"It is not the nature of humanity to abstain from corruption and greed for any notable amount of time," the Crone grummbled. "But if you are diligent, your generation can experience a vaunted golden age."

"Please," Merlin said quietly, "there is a girl missing. Yara. I was wondering if..."

"She is in a place that cannot be found," the Crone said, dismissive. "But you needn't worry, the druid boy is with her, and while his destiny is changed, the fact that it is intertwined with your own is the same."

"So she is alright?"

The Crone snorted. "There be dragons there, Emrys. Or, rather, some other magical beast, you being a Dragonlord and all. Do not become complacent."

"Speaking of being complacent," Merlin said, and Morgana was becoming distinctly unnerved by those golden eyes. "We need to wake up. It is beautiful here, but I have the feeling we are not able to stay long."

"No mortal can stay here for any amount of time," the Mother said. "But someday, Emrys..."

"I know," Merlin said, almost too quickly, tightening his hold on Morgana's waist briefly. "Someday. But not today."

"Little brother," the Crone said thoughtfully as the tree and women faded from Morgana's vision, "yes, yes, I think I shall call you that henceforth, Emrys." Then, the rest of the scene dissolved into white, which seemed to intensify into black.

 **A/N: The Triple Goddess actually IS the Mother, Maiden, and Crone. The warrior is an idea from a song that goes 'Maiden, Warrior, Mother, Crone, help us keep this land our own.' And look! The update was on time! Thanks for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter!**


	16. Awaken to Know Thine Injuries

**A/N: Disclaimers: I don't own Merlin, and I don't claim to be anywhere NEAR an expert on burns . . . other than the fact that my younger brother gets really, REALLY bad sunburns, so . . . I'm sorry if the stuff in this chapter is entirely wrong.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to** **Kumioko** **, the next chapter will be Yara and Mordred, I promise!**

 **Arthur's POV**

When Merlin and Morgana began shifting, as if on the cusp of waking up, Arthur was slumped against the wall, exhaustion weighing him down, but too stubborn (according to Gwen) to go to bed. He jerked up at the first pained groan, calling out to Gaius as he hurried to his sister's side. Morgana's hazel eyes blinked open, squinting against the dim light of the candle-lit room. Gaius was there in the next blink of Arthur's eyes, fussing over the rough blankets.

"Where are you hurt my girl?" he asked.

"Burns on my hands, I think, I . . . we had to keep going, pain would slow us down, it . . ."

"Oh, you foolish girl," Gaius says, shaking his head, but he doesn't look panicked, so Arthur doesn't worry. "The pain itself is quite important, Morgana."

"I locked the spell in," Morgana said quietly. "I have not the energy to undo it."

"I will treat what I can while you rest then. Will you need assistance to sleep?"

"I am not physically tired," Arthur's sister said, and she sounded plaintive, like the little girl she had once been, in their childhood. "My magic simply feels wrung-out."

"A natural sleep will do your magic some good," Gaius said. "I won't give you anything, but I do want you to rest. Was Merlin with you?"

Morgana nodded as Gaius examined her hands, which Arthur winced at. Her skin was shiny and red, tight over swollen flesh and blisters, a horrible burn. She would not be holding anything for a long while. "He was with me; I found him in the fire. I think that was when he entered the Dream-world." She hissed as Gaius prodded at her hand with his thumb. "Ow," she said.

"You didn't fully block all pain," Gaius said. "That's good."

Arthur's attention was drawn away from Gaius' examination when another small noise came to his ears. _Merlin._ He turned quickly to the cot where Merlin lay, blinking tired eyes. Golden eyes.

"Merlin?"

The boy didn't answer, blinking lazily at Arthur, golden irises looking _through_ the king before closing again, squeezing tight. Then blood was soaking Merlin's hair, and the arms of his tunic became tacky-wet with the liquid.

"What happened?" Gaius asked, bustling to one of the cabinets for bandages as Morgana sat up, groaning a bit.

"A window exploded," she said. "He shielded me." It was then that Arthur noticed the shallow cut against one pale cheek, oozing blood down his sister's face. A huff of a laugh brought Arthur's attention back to Merlin.

"It's not too bad, looks worse than it is," he said, voice strained. "Stings like a hundred bees though."

"You _are_ awake," Arthur said, tension he didn't even know was there bleeding out of him.

"'Course I'm awake you prat," Merlin muttered. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Two days," Arthur said, almost choking on the words. "We were getting worried."

"I suppose that would be why my stomach feels like it's trying to digest itself," Merlin said, and Arthur almost laughed.

"Only broth and water in your stomach for two days," Arthur said. "And by the way, you should start eating more, Merlin. You're skinnier than a bean pole."

"It's all that running after you I do," Merlin muttered. "If you'd stay away from danger for more than a week, I could get some rest."

"You do plenty of getting into danger on your own," Arthur said, amusement and relief filling him up; if Merlin was well enough to complain about Arthur, then he would be right as rain in no time. Gaius prompted Merlin to take off the dirtied tunic in order to bandage Merlin's cut-up arms, and Arthur had to steel himself before looking at the scars that would not fade for years yet. Merlin hissed as Gaius teased the few remaining shards of other-worldly glass from the wounds before covering them with a thick healing cream and wrapping them in bandages. Arthur noted that Merlin's arms were a shiny red- not quite as badly burned as Morgana's hands, but it really should have been more painful than Merlin was letting on.

"Anything else that needs tending to?" Gaius asked as Merlin shrugged on a fresh tunic.

"Um . . . burns on my legs, but I don't think there's much of anything else."

"Merlin," Gaius said, raising a foreboding eyebrow. "I understand this from Morgana, but you _know_ better than to use that spell."

Merlin winced, but Arthur caught the wry smile that flitted across Merlin's lips. "Yes, but sometimes, short-term survival's a little more important than knowing how injured you are," Merlin grumbled as he rolled up the legs of his trousers to reveal burned calves, red skin fading back to pale white at his knees. There was blood on the back of his calves, the skin had split, peeling away in white layers.

"You shouldn't have been running on these legs," Gaius grumbled, spreading the same cream over Merlin's legs as he had his arms. "I'm not particularly fond of expediting the healing process for people who can't be bothered to even _try_ to stay out of trouble," the physician continued, shooting Morgana a pointed look as she tried to stand from the cot, only to sit back down with a groan. "But the paste should cure your burns in a few hours Merlin, and your hands should be better in a couple days, my Lady."

"Thank you, Gaius," Morgana said as Merlin wrapped bandages around his own legs. Arthur took the cloth from him with a frown; it wasn't practical to try to bandage yourself.

The door opened and Gwen hurried in, a mile on her face. "You're awake!" she said happily, hugging Merlin gently and smiling at Morgana. "Maybe you can convince Arthur to return to his duties now."

Arthur grimaced at his soon-to-be wife as Merlin reprimanded him with a sharp poke to his chest. "You just can't get anything done when I'm gone, can you?" he said, shaking his head with that familiar dopey smile on his face. "I need to find you a new servant."

"Don't want one," Arthur muttered, tying off the bandages.

"You need one though," Merlin said. "And I'm sorry, but now that I don't have to get up at the crack of dawn to get you your breakfast, I'm certainly not going to be dragging you out of bed."

"You could never drag me out of bed," Arthur huffed. "It would take more strength than those little arms of yours could possibly manage."

Merlin smirked, and it took Arthur just a second to realize that he had walked right into one of Merlin's most-used jabs. It took nothing but a glare to set Merlin snickering. "You're such a child," Arthur said.

"Takes one to know one," piped up Morgana as she smoothed her skirt. She got to her feet, before she made a small noise in the back of her throat and plopped back down again, a pained grimace on her face.

"Forgot," she said, easing the slippers off of her feet. "I was barefoot for a while."

Barefoot and running through a field of cut glass, from the blood coating Morgana's feet, which had Gaius tutting and sending the serving boy who had been passing by for a new bucket of water for Morgana to clean her feet with.

"How come our clothes went back to normal?" Morgana asked, turning one of her slippers over in her hands. "I thought that whatever happens there happens here."

"Only to the soul," Gaius said. "It was your soul that was trapped in the dream world, not your physical body. Any clothes were a projection of your subconscious. Your body took on the soul's injuries, but other physicalities remain untouched."

 **A/N: So, I'm managing to get into a kind of rhythm of writing in college now, and can get back on track updating around the 11th of each month (though I am a bit late with this one, apologies). All the same, midterms/finals are coming up, so... I will do my best. Review please?**


	17. There Be Dragons

**A/N: So, the two timelines are now lined up, Morgana, Merlin, and Arthur were behind Yara and Mordred in time, but it all lines up now. (The last chapter with Yara was chapter 9, if you want to go back and remind yourself what exactly's going on: essentially, Yara was kidnapped, and put in a cell with Mordred.)**

 **This chapter is dedicated to the guest reviewer Mahi.**

 **Happy reading everybody!**

 **Yara POV**

Mordred was sleeping the sleep of the magically exhausted, head pillowed on Yara's lap as she carded fingers through his curly hair, which was beginning to lie lankly and unwashed across his face. He had spent the last few hours trying to stay awake, nodding off against the rough stone wall after spending what felt like ages in Yara's mind, situating himself comfortably so he could 'speak' with her without exerting too much effort, even in the magic-stifling atmosphere of the cell.

Yara had encouraged him to lean against her; she was warmer than the wall, and more comfortable, if a bit boney, perhaps. Too tired to resist, the druid fell asleep with his head on her shoulder. This was fine, but, well, it was decidedly uncomfortable, and Yara had to be very careful not to shift and dislodge his precarious position. She shifted gently, moving his head from her shoulder to her lap, soothing him as he made a small noise at the jostling. He seemed younger when he was sleeping. He had a youthful (almost childlike) energy while awake, but his eyes were old and his smile not quite truly happy. The tension in his face around his eyes and mouth were gone when he slept, lines that Yara hadn't noticed 'till they smoothed away.

He really was a rather beautiful boy, dark eyelashes fanning across a full face, and the power that Yara knew hummed under his skin. Mordred wasn't unlike Emrys, both seemed to have more weight and power foisted onto their shoulders than they wanted. But they were strong enough to bear the responsibilities. But . . . were they?

 _Not alone_ , she realized. _The powerful beings like Emrys and Morgana and Mordred cannot be alone, their power could drive them mad without people around them who cared for and humbled them_.

Mordred shifted slightly, eyes moving beneath pale lids. His dreams were teetering on the edge of being nightmares, she guessed. Maybe it was the tendril of fear in that area of her mind that Mordred seemed to inhabit. He had looked quite surprised when he discovered that she could still sense him when he was no longer actively focusing on her mind. Tentatively, she let herself sink into a trance, soothing over the sharp, smoke-scented fear in that corner of her mind. When she opened her eyes, it was to Mordred's own looking up at her.

"I didn't fall asleep like this." It wasn't a question, but Yara answered anyway.

"No. But this was more comfortable for the both of us."

"You influenced my mind."

"I wasn't sure it would work. You were having a nightmare."

"Yes." Yara waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. He also didn't move his head from her lap, looking up at her face intently with his green-grey eyes. "How many summers are you?"

Yara laughed quietly, "You sweet summer child," she teased, tapping one finger on his nose. "I was born in the midst of winter, and the coming snow-season will be my fourteenth." His raised eyebrows caused her to laugh gently. "I know, I look younger. But my mother never let my brother or I forget our years. I'm glad for it, I feel that it is something that helps me to keep a solid sense of self."

"A solid sense of self. Didn't you say that power should only be available once one has a strong moral compass?"

"Yes. A solid sense of self is necessary in the creation of a strong moral compass."

They fell silent for a while, Yara gently working the worst of the tangles out of Mordred's curly hair, just to give her hands something to do.

"You're rather short for fourteen winters," Mordred said, looking up at her inquisitively.

Yara shrugged. "My mother was short as well. She taught me that physical size has no bearing on magical or mental power."

"Very little even to do with physical prowess."

"True," Yara said carefully. "Depending on your definition of physical prowess."

Mordred rose into a sitting position then, squinting his eyes as if suddenly dizzy. "I strained my power far more than I meant to," he said, stretching his arms above his head. Yara winced at the popping sounds caused by the movement, causing him to grin.

"The human body should not make noises like that," she protested, shoving at him lightly. With a wicked grin, Mordred took the pointer finger of his right hand into his left, pulling at it to make it crack as well. "Oh stop it," Yara said, putting her hands over her ears with a laugh. "Stop it, stop it please!" He laughs as well and subsides, grinning at her. He looked younger when he grinned, Yara discovered. Which . . . how old was he? Yara couldn't rightly remember if he'd ever told her.

"This is my fifteenth Summer," he said when she asked.

"Oh! You _are_ a summer child then!" Yara said with some glee. "Sweet summer children, playing in the glen."

"Oh don't," Mordred groaned, dropping his head into his palms.

"You're safe," Yara said. "I don't remember exactly how the rest of it goes. Something about 'being watched by a fox as if they were hens'. It's been a while since I was told any rhymes."

"I'd imagine." The druid stood, stretching languidly, working the cramps out of his muscles. Not a bad idea, Yara imagined. She could feel her back stiffening from sitting so long on the rough stone floor. Oddly, her legs weren't cold. Perhaps this Castle had been built over geothermal springs.

Footsteps thumping from the store caused Yara and Mordred to look quickly to the cell door. Yara felt trepidation course through her, she hoped that they weren't going to put her or Mordred in a different cell. She didn't want to be alone. But Fortaj ignored them and continued down the torchlit hall, loud footsteps echoing back to them long after he had disappeared from sight.

"Are there any other prisoners here?" Yara asked after a moment of silence, still staring at the door and flickering torch opposite them.

"Not that I know of." Even as a whisper, Mordred's voice sounded loud in the silence, where before everything had been easy. It was as if Fortaj's sudden appearance had reminded them that they were in the dungeon of some rather dangerous people. People who wanted somehow to capture Merlin and Morgana. And judging by how easily Sela had taken Yara, it could be done. Fear settled heavily in her stomach, as if she had eaten uncooked bread dough. Yara rose to her feet, cautiously moving closer to the door of their cell. She could almost feel the silver woven into the steel of the bars, as if it was a fire that could burn her if she touched it. She reached out with one hand, lightly touching her finger to the metal. Almost instantly, she felt dizzy, almost light-headed. "The bars are a very specific blend of silver and iron," Mordred said, and when had he pulled her back against him? She could feel his heart beating like a jackrabbit's above her left shoulder blade. "Iron is the enemy of the fey, of which dragons and their lords are a branch. Correctly tempered silver dampens human magic to the extent that it may as well leech it from our bodies."

"So . . . don't touch?" Yara asked breathlessly.

"Don't touch," Mordred agreed vehemently, tightening his grip around her midsection.

"Thank you," she got out past the half-suffocation. "I do need to breathe though." He let go quickly, apologizing.

She gazed at the tip of her left pointer finger, looking at the blister there. "That's going to hurt eventually," Mordred said, taking her hand in his to inspect the burn. "Hopefully you weren't in contact with the metal long enough for it to spread."

"It's a disease?"

"If the iron affects you it could be. Do you know if any of your family were dragon lords?"

"My grandfather was," she said quietly.

"Not entirely surprising," Mordred said quietly. "Most non-druidic magic users now are descended from dragon lords. But as I said, I think the contact was brief enough, you should be fine."

Quick, heavy footsteps in the corridor, and Yara turned around just as the broad-shouldered, black haired Sardor hurried past the door. A high-pitched cry made itself heard, a cry that Yara could feel in her soul as much as hear with her ears.

"What...?" Mordred said, moving closer to the door, peering into the fire-lit hallway.

"That . . . that was a dragon," Yara said, feeling something rising in her chest. Something . . . like hope. "There's a dragon here."

 **A/N: Hey guys! Sorry I've been updating so late, my muse for this story is kind of dead. I'm muddling through it though. If you'd review, I'd really appreciate it.**


	18. An Exercise in Futility

**A/N: This chapter's a bit short . . . still over 1,000 words, but just barely. It's a bit of a filler/info chapter, but I think the action will pick up in the next chapter. I loved the reviews, thanks so much!**

 **This chapter is dedicated to the Guest reviewer 'Faith'.**

 _ **Yara POV**_

Yara couldn't explain quite why she felt dragons so strongly, why she had such a kinship with them. She knew that the title of Dragonlord was passed from father to firstborn son, but she had always felt that she understood them. Perhaps she had some sort of residual power, from when her brother had been killed.

"A dragon. And you have a Dragonlord's blood. Do you have any of the power?"

"Some. I can usually convince dragons to do things. I can't order them, though."

"Can you call them?"

Yara scoffed, turning to face Mordred. "Even if I could, which is unlikely, I don't know how. Beyond which, as far as I know, there's only one dragon, and he would be impossible to keep chained up in a place like this. It wouldn't be possible for me to . . . well. Let's not make any plans 'till I've had contract with them, okay?"

"Sure. But I don't know what kind of time we have," Mordred said quietly. "These men . . . they don't have us here for a tea party, and they plan to kidnap Emrys and Morgana as well. If they're confident enough to think that they can take Emrys from under the King's nose, then they have a real reason to want us."

"I'd like to have a good plan before trying anything," Yara said.

Mordred gave her an incredulous look. "You live in Camelot," he said.

"I know," Yara muttered, sitting down against the wall near the door. "Making things up as we go along is a very Camelotian thing to do. But I wasn't born or brought up in Camelot. I get nervous in those situations. When my path took me to Camelot, I knew it would likely culminate in an audience, so to speak, with the king. I planned almost word-for-word what I'd say to him."

"That seems a bit excessive."

"I may be a bit prone to exaggeration," Yara returned with a shrug. "Doesn't change-" she was interrupted this time by a dragon's cry, the same one as before, but closer. Yara froze, mouth gaping, scooting so that she was sitting in front of the barred door rather than to the side, as men's voices filtered through the air once the dragon had quieted.

Mordred put a hand to her arm, drawing her up and away from the door as the voices got louder. She let him support her as she waited for her legs to stop tingling as blood rushed back into them, her leggings sticky and dirty against her skin. But beyond her dirty hair, her dirty skin, the sweat making her clothes cling, Yara was aware of the dragon, the knowledge of closeness making her blood sing. But there was the feel of ice skittering across her skin, raising goose bumps across her arms and neck. Something was wrong.

Mordred had backed them into one of the shadowy corners far from the door, keeping one arm thrown easily across her shoulders.

"Come now ya bloody beast," she heard one of the men grunt as shadows started playing across the stone walls. There was a stabilizing pulse of calm coming from the place where Mordred existed in her mind, which was probably a necessity, all things considered.

The dragon was small, with what had probably once been beautiful white scales that were flaking, probably from too much time underground, no matter that the floors were weirdly warm. The dragon was also muzzled and chained, shying away from Fortaj and Sardor as they tugged on the chains. A whine escaped its throat as the dragon was pulled forward another step, rough chains digging against its dull scales.

"Stop-!" Yara started, before Mordred slapped a hand over her mouth, forcing her into silence. Sardor glanced into the cell with a sneer; sweat beaded his brow, his bangs clumped to one side of his tan face, exposing a scar Yara hadn't noticed before. A very deliberate scar.

"We'll be back for the two of you sweetheart, don't worry," he sneered. "As soon as Sela and Verniet come back with the other two magical keys." Mordred kept his hand over her mouth until they and the dragon had passed out of sight, until the curses were soft and echoing from far away.

"You saw the symbol?" He asked as he let her go. She nodded, turning to get a better look at his face. He looked frightened.

"Blood magic."

"Worse than that," Mordred said, shaking his head. "Most blood magic doesn't leave a scar. This magic is more ancient even than the world. It's not even technically the same magic."

"You mean . . . chaos?"

Mordred shuddered. "I hope not. But if it's true, we have a lord or lady of Chaos in our world."

"I thought that wasn't possible."

Mordred shook his head. "It shouldn't be, but it should be relatively easy to send them back regardless; lords and ladies of Chaos have a very tenuous hold on anything in the material world."

"We have to get out of here," Yara said, mind working furiously. They had to warn Merlin and Arthur; agents of Chaos weren't anything to be trifled with.

"Of course," Mordred responded, raising his eyebrows. "But our sudden awareness of yet another evil will have no effect whatsoever on that metal."

Right. The silver/iron combination keeping their magic unreachable beyond Mordred's ability to speak into her mind. That did rather put a damper on things. Yara put her hands to the wall, pressing against the cold stones.

"What are you doing?"

"The outside of this castle appears to be very old. Maybe some of these stones are loose."

Mordred's eyes seemed to watch her for a moment, and Yara went back to her perusal of the walls. Her fingers were beginning to grow numb from the cold of the walls before he spoke again. "I wish we had something I could pick the lock with."

Yara snorted. "Not likely. Even if we had something, those bars can't be much better for you to touch than me. And that's assuming you actually could pick the lock without seeing it."

"I have practice," Mordred muttered, sitting down again. He shifted against the floor, brow furrowed as Yara went back to the walls. Pushing against the stone wall was an exercise in futility, and she was glad enough to stop when Mordred called her name, a confused frown still present on his face.

"I think one of the floor tiles is loose."


	19. Chaos Falling

_**Yara POV**_

The floor tile was in fact loose, enough that Yara could wriggle her fingers underneath one of the worn corners and tug upwards, tipping it up and out of its spot with Mordred's help. Yara couldn't keep back a smile as the billow of warm air caused her hair to stir around her face. Airflow meant a possible escape route.

"It's awfully dark down there," Mordred said, "I can't even see if it's a far drop or not."

"The stone must have been resting on something," Yara responded, letting her fingers feel out the stone edge. "There may not be much of a drop at all."

"Either way, we need to get out of here before they come back."

For a moment, they both stared into the darkness, straining their eyes.

"How far do you think that iron-silver would affect our magic?"

Mordred glanced at her, grey eyes sharp and focused. "I don't know . . . not too far though, when they brought me in, I didn't feel the void until I was pretty close." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I know a levitation spell."

"No."

"There's no other way," he hissed urgently. "Yara, we have to get out of here to warn Morgana and Emrys about the Lady or Lord of Chaos."

"I . . ." Yara bit her lip. Logically, if whatever surface was below the floor was far enough of a drop to be dangerous, it was likely that Mordred would be able to access his magic. This did not make her feel better about watching him drop down a pitch black hole.

"I'll be fine," he said, squeezing her hand. "Don't worry about me. And I'll be connected to you in here," he added, tapping her temple gently.

"Don't die."

"I won't," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. He went into the hole feet first, and for a second, Yara thought that his shoulders would be too much of a tight squeeze; he managed to wiggle his way through though, until he was hanging by his fingertips. "See you on the other side," he said, eyes glinting up at her, and then he let go.

As she stared into the darkness, Yara wrapped her awareness around the bit of Mordred's magic she could feel in her mind. It pulsed gently, as if with his heartbeat, growing slightly brighter for a moment before softening to a low glow again. For a few moments she waited, holding her breath, waiting in the silence with her breath and heart loud in her ears. Then a glow bloomed below her, illuminating a silhouette. A jingle behind her. Steps. Someone coming. A shout.

Yara turned to see Fortaj fumbling with a key ring, face contorted in an ugly combination of fear and anger. Without much thought, Yara sent a twang of urgency along the bond Mordred had built in her mind and slipped through the hole as the jailor got the cell door open. Her fall was arrested by a shooting pain in her scalp . . . he had grabbed her by her hair. Tears sprang up in her eyes as Fortaj began pulling her back up the hole by her hair. She twisted, letting out a cry of pain and frustration, beating at his large, calloused hand with her own, scratching at his skin with her fingernails.

"No you don't," he grunted harshly, grimacing above her. As she struggled with him, squirming to keep him from pulling her up, catching her head and elbow and shoulders against the lip of stone above her, she noticed that much of his weight was born by his other arm. If she could take that from under him . . . . Yara reached up with a fist, catching Fortaj on the inside of that supporting elbow, causing it to collapse. And then they were both falling.

Yara slows as she falls, and is eventually embraced from behind by strong, warm arms. Fortaj keeps falling. Then, there's a wet smack, and silence.

"Oh, gods," Yara said, and feels the tension go out of her limbs as the arms tighten around her waist. "Oh gods."

"It's alright, you're alright," Mordred murmurs in her ear.

"Oh gods."

"Shh." They were sinking slowly through the air, the ball of yellow light Mordred had conjured sinking with them, illumination the arching supports of the ancient castle above them. The hole they had escaped through was lost in the shadows above them.

"We have to get back to Camelot," Yara said quietly as her feet reached a stone outcropping above a great steaming lake. Hot spring. She had been right; huh.

"You feel that breeze?" Mordred asked, arms lifting from around her waist to stretch up above them, as if to catch the wind that stirred their hair. "If we follow that, we should be able to get out of here."

"Abeþece diht foldweg*," Yara murmured, and a glowing line flashed forward, a bright light piercing the darkness as it moves away from their little circle of light. Yara's magic was buzzing at the tips of her fingers, licking at her insides like friendly flames. But she couldn't feel joy. A man was dead because of her. Yes, Gwaine had been teaching her how to fight, but that was all just an idea. It wasn't in her nature to kill, it was her nature to heal.

"You didn't kill him, Yara," Mordred said, sliding his hand into hers. "It was an accident that he brought upon himself. Now come on, we have to get out of here and warn Emrys about the Lord of Chaos."

She allows the words to mollify her for the time being; they _did_ have more important things to be doing than mourning a man who had imprisoned them and stolen their magic, their souls. As they traversed the rocky ledge, clambering up and down the rocky embankments, Yara found herself ever-more grateful that she had been taken in trousers and blouse, rather than the so-cumbersome dresses that knights' daughters are societally meant to wear. It would be quite difficult to traverse this terrain with folds of cloth hindering her leg movement. Now she could only hope that they got out of the caves in time to warn Merlin and Morgana before the 'Lord-or-Lady of Chaos' could cause any . . . well, _chaos_.

 **A/N: Um . . . this chapter took forever. Sorry. Reviews are loved!**

 ***Yara's spell-casting earlier is roughly old English for 'Find Our Path'.**


	20. Crossing Bridges as One Arrives at Them

**A/N: Sorry this took so long! I very much have writers' block with this story. I WILL finish it, I'm much too OCD to let a story remain unfinished, but I'm having difficulty getting motivated to write. I hope this longer-than-usual chapter will maybe make you not angry at me? *cringes with sorrow***

 _ **Yara's POV**_

Getting out of the cave was almost a piece of cake compared to the uneasiness and confusion that had permeated her time in the magic-dampening cells. Mordred seemed to be delighting in his returned powers, keeping up a kind of litany of silent spells in their minds as flowers grew spontaneously from the rocks and troublesome blockages of their passage to the outside world being easily lifted aside. The flowers were a bit of a superfurfluos use of magic, but Mordred had been in that cell days longer than her; he was probably experiencing the euphoria that comes from release of constant suppression.

Yara's own magic tingled with renewed vigour at her fingertips and shoulder blades, causing her shoulders to twitch in mingled annoyance and relief. Still, her jailor's death weighed on her, a black cloud which threatened to eclipse the sun of her magic's return and her own escape. She knew that she should wait until they were safe back in Camelot to allow herself to actually think on it (surely this would take days of meditation and probably some calming herbal teas) but it was rather a hard thing to just decide to put out of her mind.

 _You're alright, Yara_ , came Mordred's voice, soft in her mind, like a dusting of flour over her sticky, cloying thoughts. And while it probably would have been fine had he spoken aloud, somehow the intimacy of his voice _in_ her mind helped her to calm down. She gripped his hand tightly in hers and continued down the passageway, following the trail of silver light, glancing back every so often to watch it go out a few feet behind them.

The wind that Mordred claimed to have felt earlier was stronger now; they couldn't be far from the surface. Yara found herself hurrying, despite the rocky terrain shifting a tad disconcertingly under her boots. Mordred laughed a little and sped up to keep pace with her as they half-ran, half-stumbled toward the fresh air.

Yara shrieked as they burst out of the cave and were promptly soaked by a small waterfall, feet splashing into a shallow pond. Quickly, they waded out of the water, onto the grassy, moonlit bank. The full moon was set low in the sky, bathing the forest beyond the shore a stark white where shadows did not paint it black. They stood still for a moment, cold water dripping from the hems of their trousers, looking back at the ruin behind them.

"We have to get to the road," Mordred said eventually, breaking the quiet, "and back to Camelot. We may not have much time."

"Right," Yara murmured. "The road should be on the same side as the entrance to the castle, but if Sardor notices that we're gone . . . surely that would be where he'd look first."

"And he'd be alone," Mordred pointed out. "While we are not." His eyes flashed gold briefly, as if to illustrate his point.

"The dragon!" Yara said suddenly. "Mordred, if Sardor _is_ alone, we could rescue the dragon!"

"We really should get back to Camelot," Mordred muttered, gazing up at the castle rising above the scant trees behind them. Then he sighed. "I won't leave a creature of magic to suffer. Come on." Water squelched in Yara's shoes as they trekked through the forest, and she suppressed a grimace about the lecture Gwaine was sure to give her about taking care of her belongings, particularly good leather boots. Right after he smothered her to death in relief that she wasn't hurt.

"I'll knock Sardor out if you can take care of the dragon?"

"I don't actually have a dragon lord's power," Yara reminded Mordred as they approached the large main doors into the keep.

"But you said you could convince them."

"This one looks young, and not in very good health. She probably needs a dragon's nurturing before she could truly converse with a human- even a dragon lord- but she will probably sense that I wish her no harm. Hopefully my healer's aura will attract her and keep her docile."

"And then we go back to Camelot, a place that has barely just legalized magic, with a baby dragon in tow?"

"Maybe Merlin will be able to sense her?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Mordred said, and with a simple-worded spell, caused the doors to crash open. They ran into the echoing entrance chamber together, and stopped, surprised to see their quarry right in front of them. Not quite as surprised as Sardor though, who was knocked unconscious by Mordred's spell just as he opened his mouth. The dragon had been muzzled and chained to the hall's central support pillar; it was visibly stunted: it's scaly skin stretched over it's rounded skull and hanging off its bones, and the bony ridges that should adorn it's back were broken and dulled.

Yara moved slowly, exaggerating her movements so as not to startle the young dragon. It made a small, pitiful whine in its throat as she got closer, shrinking away slightly.

"Shhh, it's okay," Yara said quietly, crouching to be more of a height with the creature, slinking toward it on her hands and the balls of her feet. "You'll be alright, it's okay, we're getting you out of here..." she keeps up a litany of soothing noises as she slips her hand around the muzzle. It opens smoothly once she finds the catch, and the small dragon stretches its jaw, letting out a pitiful squeak of a roar. It settles for a moment, nuzzling the crown of its head against Yara's hand.

With a whispered " _tospringe,_ " the chains fell away from it's legs and neck, landing with loud clanks against the flagstones of the hall's floor. Yara had expected the small dragon to take flight, but it simply nuzzled its head against her thigh, winding it's tail around her legs. "Let's go," Mordred said, gesturing towards the still-open door and the moonlit forest outside.

The dragon kept step with the two humans as they ran, but kept its wings furled close to its side, loping awkwardly on its legs through the moon-shadows.

They travelled parallel to the road untill the sun began to rise over the horizon in front of them, at which point Yara could tell that the young dragon was becoming exhausted. "Mordred," she called, "we need to rest."

Shielding his eyes from the sun, Mordred looked back to the east, before acquiescing. "I'll keep watch," he said, trekking back to where Yara and the dragon were finding a comfortable place to lay down.

"I don't think I'll actually sleep," Yara said, but yawned immediately after.

"You haven't slept well recently," Mordred said, a fond smile on his face. "Get some sleep."

"A'right," Yara said, and settled herself next to the dragon's pale skin, feeling it's heat against her side as she dozed off to the sight of weak morning sunlight catching the morning dew as it filtered through the trees.

Mordred shook her awake when the sun was nearly directly overhead; he seemed excited about something, a smile on his face and a light in his grey-green eyes. "There are knights of Camelot on the road."

"Stay with her," Yara said, jumping up, away from the dragon, who shifted in her sleep.

She heard them before she saw them, Elyan and Percival and . . . and . . . and Gwaine! Had they been looking for her? Had they been searching the forest for signs of her? She didn't know why that made her happy, but it did; the feeling bubbling warm somewhere deep in her chest. Yara ran to catch up with the knights while they rode their horses closer to the ruined castle she had only last night escaped from.

"Gwaine!" she called, racing so that her tangled, bedraggled hair flew behind her. "Gwiane!"

Her fosterer looked behind him, shoulder-length hair swinging slightly with the motion. "Yara!" He dismounted from his horse so fast that he stumbled, red cape of Camelot tangling around his feet as the horse shifted in surprise. "Are you alright!?" he asked frantically, tugging furiously at the hampering cloth as he ran towards her. "I've been looking for you for days, I've been so worried, oh my goodness, oh darling girl," he babbled as he raked his eyes over her, looking for injuries. The worry lines in his forehead eased as he found nothing dangerous.

"The woman who took you said she had been hired by Odin."

"Not that I'm aware of," Yara said, shaking her head. "Mordred says that their master is a Lord or Lady of Chaos."

"That sounds significantly worse."

"It is."

"Who is Mordred?" asked Elyan, dismounting from his own horse along with Percival.

"He was in the same cell with me. There were only three prisoners, we got the dragon out too."

Elyan's eyes grew wide.

"A dragon," he said, sounding disbelieving. "There's. Another. Dragon?"

"Well, it seems to be just a baby, and not very healthy at that. Merlin would know. We need to get back to Camelot!"

"Alright," Gwaine said. "Let's go pick up the other two escapees and make our way home."

 **A/N: I love you for sticking with me this far, for anyone who has, and WELCOME to any new reader. I'm sorry that this story is updated so** **sporadically** **.**


	21. Food and Bickering

_**MERLIN POV**_

Merlin was exhausted. His body had been resting for days, and yet all he wanted was to curl up and do nothing. Luckily, he now had a much more comfortable bed to do that in than he had almost two months ago. Unluckily, Arthur was apparently a bit of a mother hen, and didn't seem to understand the idea that sometimes, it took _time_ for a person to become fully rested after running around in the spirit world, not to mention meeting the Triple Goddess.

"You should eat a little more, Merlin."

"Arthur," he sighed, "over-eating is not going to make me regain my energy any faster."

"It can't hurt," the King muttered, gesturing for the serving boy behind him to set the tray on the table.

Merlin smiled at the boy, who bowed and left with a murmured, "My lords."

He turned back to Arthur, who stood with arms crossed at the foot of his bed. "Up and at 'em lazy daisy," Arthur said with a smirk, gesturing with his head to the food on the table.

"You don't get to steal all my folksy sayings," Merlin muttered, pulling a nearby pillow over his head. "They're mine."

Arthur tugged the pillow from Merlin's tired fingers. He blinked his eyes open, feeling invading sunlight behind his eyelids. "Still not getting up," he grumbled, squinting up at his King.

"You need to eat, you do yourself no good by refusing."

"I find myself not to be hungry."

"Stop being so stubborn Merlin, of course you're hungry."

"How much food do you think I ate as your servant?" Merlin asked, raising his eyebrows. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but just one of the meals I delivered you would have been all my food for the day, if not two."

"That's . . . not right," Arthur said, looking pained. "You should eat more than that, Merlin, it's not healthy!"

"It's what I'm used to, Arthur. I had less food in Ealdor, it's simply how my life was. Besides, I wouldn't say I had too little food; it's more that the amount of food you ate was the reason I had to keep poking new holes in your belt."

Arthur threw the pillow at Merlin, who gasped in mock-outrage. "I, you heathen, am an all-powerful warlock!"

"Who can't even get out of bed, I'll take my chances," Arthur said wryly.

"I wouldn't need to get out of bed if I wanted to smite you."

"Smite? Really Merlin? Do you even know what that means?"

"For your information, I attended you at most of your tournaments, your Pratishness."

"You were running off getting drunk at the tavern during many of said tournaments."

"You do realize that the tavern was just Gaius' excuse for me when I had magical problems to attend to, right?"

"Well that explains why you could never actually hold your liquor."

"Hardy har," Merlin muttered, pulling the thick quilted blanket up over his head, shutting out the bright light of day.

"Well, I guess I shall just have to tell Yara that you were too tired to welcome her home when she gets here later today."

In a flurry of surprised movement, Merlin sat up and threw the blankets off of him, standing too fast and falling back into the soft mattress. "They found her!?"

"Elyan says that it's more accurate to say that she found them," Arthur said with a grin. "Which actually doesn't surprise me at all." He grabbed at Merlin's forearm to hoist him to his feet, slipping an arm around his waist to keep him upright this time. "Apparently, there's a dragon with them, Elyan said that Yara thinks you might be able to . . . ah . . . help . . . it?"

"Ah, that would be because I'm a Dragon-Lord."

"You're a- is there anything magical you _can't_ do?"

"Loads. I suck at healing magic, remember?"

"You're a Dragon-Lord," Arthur said, some kind of wonder creeping into his voice. "My former servant talks to dragons."

"Your former servant talked to Kilghara _while_ he was your servant," Merlin pointed out.

"Kil-who now?"

"The Great Dragon? The one that used to be chained up under the castle?"

"Oh yeah, him. So, he's coming back to Camelot?"

"Um . . . no, I don't think so," Merlin muttered, struggling into his new, and more complicated, clothes. "I kind of ordered him to never come back unless I called him."

"But I thought he was the only one," Arthur said, holding out a chunk of cheese with a significant glance at Merlin's ribs.

"Well," Merlin said slowly, accepting the food. "He was, until I . . . well, I mean, I was a Dragon Lord, I couldn't let that man take it . . ."

"Merlin," Arthur interrupted, "don't go into story-telling, you can't string verbs and nouns together correctly."

"I . . . may have hatched a dragon egg a few years ago."

"What." Arthur's face had turned deadpan, and Merlin fidgeted nervously with his tunic. This wasn't something Arthur knew about, and the last dragon he'd come anywhere close to had been in the process of destroying Camelot.

"Ah, in my room, I hatched a dragon egg that a rather disreputable man had had in his possession. Her name's Aithusa, she's an albino, and, ah, I'm kind of super protective over her, so please don't hurt her."

"Only you, Merlin, would hatch a dragon's egg in the middle of Camelot."

"Actually true, that," Merlin muttered, picking up an apple from the tray overflowing with food. "Did Elyan say when Yara would most likely get here?"

"Around mid-day, if the voyage is smooth." Merlin took a bite out of the apple, smiling inwardly as the crisp flavor exploded in his mouth. Whatever he said to Arthur about his previous quality of food, he certainly did not miss it.

"And what time is it now?"

Arthur gestured wordlessly to the window, where the sun was near its apex.

Merlin felt himself go a bit slack-jawed, and swallowed quickly. "Um . . . I did not notice I'd slept that long."

"Welcome to my world."

"Yeah," Merlin muttered, "the world of feather pillows and way-too-soft mattresses."

Arthur flicked his ear in retaliation, and for a while, it was as if the past few months had never happened and they were servant and master bickering lightheartedly over a meal.


	22. Melting and Simmering

**_ARTHUR POV_**

The dragon was small; in fact, compared to the dragon that had attacked Camelot, it was downright tiny. Still, that didn't stop Arthur's heart from skipping a beat in fear when it charged at Merlin. His sorcerer opened his arms, thin face splitting into a smile as the dragon leapt into the embrace.

"Aithusa! Oh, darling child," Merlin cooed, stoking her small head. "You're alright now, I shan't allow any harm to come to you here." Arthur had to admit that he was proud that he'd gotten Merlin out of bed, the boy had seemed set on never leaving his chambers again.

"Sire!" He turned to see Yara, dwarfed in her adoptive father's red cloak, dismounting from in front of Gwaine. He caught a glimpse of a boy slipping down from Percival's horse before Yara tripped on the overlong cloak and he had to lurch forward to catch her. "You must speak with Mordred, Camelot is in danger!"

"Slow down," he said, setting her gently on her bare feet.

"The people that took me, Mordred says they're connected with a Lord or Lady of Chaos!"

"That doesn't sound good," Arthur said, glancing at Merlin, whose eyes had widened.

"Emrys."

Merlin looked up at the barefoot boy who had been riding with Percival, and if possible, his face got whiter. "Mordred," he breathed. He stood slowly, settling the dragon back on its own feet, though it whined and butted its small head against Merlin's leg. "I am so sorry," Merlin said, and in all the years of Merlin being a frankly terrible servant, Arthur had never seen him looking so contrite. "I-"

"The future is forever in flux, Emrys, and I have been taught to forgive."

"I . . . truly?"

The boy, Mordred, smiled down at Merlin. "You are not the first to do questionable things in an attempt to keep worse things from happening." Merlin stood, white dragon snaking between his legs like a cat.

"Thank you, Mordred. _Thank you_."

"You helped bring magic back to Camelot, Emrys. You saved our kin. It is I who should thank _you_. But I come with more than forgiveness; we must keep a weathered eye out for a Lord or Lady of Chaos."

"Let us take this conversation inside," Arthur interrupted as Merlin opened his mouth to respond. "Merlin ought to be resting."

"You're the one who dragged me out of bed this morning," Merlin muttered indignantly.

"Yes, and now I am saying that you could do with a bit more rest."

"Let us adjourn to my chambers then," the former servant said, wrinkling his nose.

Morgana was waiting in Merlin's rooms when they entered, standing regally by the empty fire place. "Trying to leave me out of the thick of things, brother?" she asked with a smirk.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Arthur responded with a smile.

"How are you up?" Merlin grumbled, collapsing into a chair. "I would still be asleep if not for this prat," he glared accusingly at Arthur.

"Extreme motivation," was the response. "Gwen told me we were expecting Yara back today."

"I'm afraid I got your old clothes a bit dirty," Yara said with a rueful smile.

"They're your clothes now, and therefore not my problem," Morgana said with a small smirk, causing Yara to laugh quietly.

"Okay," Arthur said, closing the doors and moving to sit at the table. "What was this about a Lord of Chaos?"

"The Triple Goddess is the protector of the natural order," Merlin said. "Lords and Ladies of Chaos are rogue magic-users who attempt to destroy that order for their own gain."

"They are sometimes called necromancers," Mordred added. "They don't necessarily play with the dead, but the powers they wield come from the dark world between the living and those dead whom have moved on."

"And there's one of those in Camelot?" Why could he never catch a break? He decides that magic isn't evil, and suddenly these evil magic-users come into his kingdom.

"Indeed."

"Alright, what can we do about it?" Arthur asked, looking to Merlin.

Merlin's eyebrows rose, and he said nothing.

"Oh come on, you claim that you saved me from magic for years, you have some sort of plan to find these people, right?"

"I wasn't exactly proactive in your protection, I was more reactive, since you kept ignoring me whenever I asked you to be careful," Merlin said, rolling his eyes. "So, no. I've got nothing at the moment."

"At the moment?"

"Well, once this Lord or Lady of Chaos shows themselves, I'll probably be running around like crazy."

"But this time, you're not alone." Morgana had come forward to rest her hands on Merlin's shoulders. "You have us, and your use of magic will no longer get you killed."

"Don't jinx it," Merlin muttered, and Arthur flinched when he noticed Merlin rubbing at his wrists. He had hoped that legalizing magic would help Merlin to put all of the terror and hopelessness behind him, but so far, that hadn't been the case. Merlin hadn't been taking a blade to his own skin as far as Arthur knew, but he often played with the edges of his sleeves, fussing about his wrists and rubbing the tender skin raw.

"Lady Morgana," Mordred said, "have you ever scried?"

"No, I can't say that I have," she responded, looking confused.

"Your affinity for prophecy will make it easy for you to scry. You could look into still water and see something happening elsewhere."

"Well then, let's try it!" Morgana said, smiling.

Mordred fetched a bowl from a small side table and poured fresh water from the pitcher on the table into it. "My teachers tried to teach me how to do this, but I had very little ability. You'll have to clear your mind of all but what you wish to find-" he was cut off when Morgana gasped.

"I can see . . . oh, this is so odd! I can see things in the water! But it's moving too fast, I can't-"

"You have to concentrate," Mordred counselled. "If your mind is unsure, then the waters will not know what to show you."

"Would you like help?" Merlin asked, and heaved himself to his feet when Morgana nodded. Her placed both of his hands on Morgana's shoulders, standing behind her as he closed his eyes. Arthur was suddenly struck by what he was seeing. His sister, a powerful sorceress and his previous enemy, being helped in magical affairs by Merlin, the most powerful warlock alive and a man who may as well be his brother.

"It's a cave," Morgana said suddenly, peering into the bowl. "Under the castle. And a woman . . . she has red hair, like fire. The rocks near her are . . . melting. The air is simmering and . . . I can't tell what she's doing, but it feels . . . evil."

"A Lady of Chaos," Mordred said. "She is pulling at the elements, at their binding magics. She could be eroding the vary foundations of Camelot."

"She's in the dragon-cave," Merlin said, his skin somehow paling beyond the grey tinge it had adopted over the past few days. "It's under the dungeons. If she's liquefying the rock, then she is literally destabilizing Camelot."


	23. Pain

**_Morgana POV_**

It hurt. Dear gods above it hurt. She knew nothing but pain, she could hear and see nothing, didn't feel the ground beneath her. It was all pain, and she wanted it to end. She wanted all of it to end. The possible nothingness of death would be far preferable to this. And then the pain wiped all thought from her mind.

Ages later (or was it seconds?) the pain stopped. Morgana could feel herself choking on the air that entered her lungs, just barely registering the wetness on her cheeks as her chest rattled with sobs. Someone was holding her; someone whose chest was also stuttering with damp breaths.

"They're in _pain_ ," she whimpered. "So much _pain_."

"I know," came Arthur's voice from above her, "I know, my sister." He was rubbing her back, trying to comfort her as if she didn't know that he needed the comfort as much as she did.

Her breaths started to even out, though her heart didn't seem able to beat steadily. "They're going to die," came a whimper from somewhere outside of her field of vision. "We left them both in there to-" the voice choked off with a sob.

"Hush now," came the voice of Sir Gwaine. "They'll be alright. They'll be alright." But it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Because they'd stepped foot into the cavern, and Morgana had had a split second to understand that the very air was drawing her magic out of her very being before the pain set in. And then there's nothing else. But they're not there anymore, and two are missing. Mordred and Merlin are still in that horrible place.

"I have to help them," she gasped out, tearing her eyes away from where Yara was cradled in Gwaine's arms.

"You can't," Arthur said, wrapping a hand around her waist to keep her from rising. There were tears in his eyes and coursing down his cheeks. "There's no way in, Percival checked."

"And the city is already starting to destabilize," Elyan said, where he sat propped against the wall. "The other knights are doing their best to evacuate the city, but there's only so much we can do. If the city falls, any too sick or old to move will die, and many many more will lose homes and livelihoods."

"Camelot might literally fall," Gwaine muttered, still stroking Yara's pale hair, which was limp with pained sweat.

Pain momentarily sung across Morgana's consciousness, before quieting again. From Yara's fresh sobs, she wasn't the only one. "They're dying," the girl choked out. "They're dying."

"They won't die," was Gwaine's response. "They won't die . . . ."

Then she realized something. The woman who had poisoned her was still in the dungeons. This Lady of Chaos was connected to Sela, if what Yara and Mordred had told them was true. If anyone knew the woman's weakness, it would be Sela or one of the two men who had kidnapped Yara. "Where are we?"

Arthur helped her to stand, supporting her as her knees buckled. "Throne room," he responded. Then, "where do you think _you're_ going?"

"Dungeons. That woman who poisoned me may know something."

"Let us come with you," Yara said, struggling to sit up, wiping tears from her red cheeks.

"No," Morgana said, doing her best to keep any lingering pain from her voice as she straitened her posture. "Stay here, child, and rest. As soon as you are strong enough, get everyone here to safety."

"Morgana, I will not allow you to go alone," Arthur began, but Morgana interrupted him. Her brother was stubborn, and, like most brave men, decidedly stupid.

"You are the king of Camelot," she hissed, prodding at his chest. "Your people are outside of the city walls without you. You have to go and lead them. You may not want to, you may not think it's fair, but guess what? Life isn't fair." She pursed her lips. "I will do all I can to get Merlin and Mordred out of this alive, but if any harm came to you Arthur, it would all be for nothing. It is you who will bring about the unification of these scattered, war-torn kingdoms into Albion. Not Gwen, not the twins she is carrying, and not me. You. And you cannot do that if you are dead."

Arthur made a strangled sound. " _Twins?_ "

"I've had dreams of your son and daughter," Morgana said, waving a hand. She turned to Gwaine. "I trust you not to take any of his excuses. Get him to his people."

"At least let me go with you," Yara said, but the girl couldn't even get to her feet.

"Not a chance," Gwaine said, and Morgana nodded.

"I will see you all later. And Arthur, if I catch you following me? I will not hesitate to knock you out. No playing the hero this time."

In the end, the king nodded, but only after she allowed Percival to travel with her into the dungeons. Morgana didn't mind it, actually. Percival was silent, and she could welcome his presence as a solid, steady spirit to help keep her mind rational.

Sela was almost unhelpful. Unhelpful, except for the amulet. The one that Morgana remembered made her immune to magic. And the Lady of Chaos, she was using magic. She would be killing Merlin and Mordred with magic. So what if . . . "Sir Percival," she said, striving for the coolness of voice that she barely remembered from her time with Morgause. "The amulet. Take it from her."

It was a short scuffle. Sela had been in the dungeons for long enough to doubt that she would ever be freed by anything other than her own good behavior. Morgana made sure to lock the cell behind her before putting on the necklace, and found herself relieved that she could still feel the tattered remnants of her own magic ready to respond to her call. The pain had torn the magic from her veins, and she shuddered to think of what it had done to Merlin, whose very life-force was his magic.

The passage to the cavern from the dungeons was gone. The ceiling had collapsed, and as Morgana contemplated to blockage, she could see where the Chaos magic was creeping up the walls, across the ceiling, blanketing the ground. "Have you ever moved through space by magic?" She asked Percival, still contemplating the blocked passage before her.

"No."

"It is decidedly unpleasant," Morgana said, resigned. "Wish me luck."

"I do not think you will need it."

"I thank you for your confidence, Sir Percival." Closing her eyes, Morgana searched for the spot in her mind that seemed always to belong to Merlin. It flickered, just barely there, a pale imitation of the way Morgana could usually pinpoint Merlin's magic. But it was enough. She could feel the Chaos magic press against her, as if she was being squeezed in a vice. But there was no pain.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the Lady of Chaos. Dressed all in grey, with mousey brown hair cut at the level of her chin, she didn't look like much. But her eyes glowed red rather than gold, and her face was screwed up into a rictus of mad power. Morgana could sense Merlin and Mordred elsewhere in the cavern, but would not allow herself to be distracted. The Lady of Chaos had not noticed her, too enticed by the power she wielded to believe for a second that she might miss something. The dagger she had lifted quietly from Sir Percival's belt was cold in her grasp as she held it behind her back.

In the end, it was really too simple, though Morgana didn't want to think about what would have happened had Sela's amulet not worked. The blade went into the Lady's back with a soft _snick_ as it slid past her ribs and into her heart. There was no struggle, no scream. Just a sudden absence of life as she woman fell to the stone floor. The black blight of her magic, which had stained the floor an inky black, dissolved stone and poisoned the air, began to recede into the dead body, dissolving it into ash.

 **A/N: I know, two updates in one week? One right after another? What's happening!? I'll tell you what's happening. I HIT MY GROOVE! FINALLY! Also, I got ahead in my workload. Only took me a month. Anyway, just one chapter left. I'd love it if you left me a review letting me know what you think, seeing as how my muse finally woke up again.**


	24. Happy After All

**A/N: Da da daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, here it is! The last chapter. L.A.S.T. I GOT THERE! YAY! My muse did not desert me! Great, show up for the end. I could have used you about 20 chapters ago. Oh well, better late than never. This is dedicated to whomever has made it this far through all of the rest of this story. Thanks so much for reading!**

 ** _MORGANA POV_**

Merlin and Mordred were unconscious when she got to them. Merlin had wrapped his arms around the boy, as if trying to shield him from the power draining the magic from their bodies. Merlin's skin was pale, too pale, and he didn't stir when Mordred opened his eyes.

"Lady Morgana," croaked the boy, and she couldn't keep herself from tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "The others, are they-"

"Everyone's alright," she soothed quietly. "The Lady of Chaos is dead."

"I feel horrible," Mordred murmured, before turning his head and retching loudly.

"Come, let us get you and Merlin to Gaius."

The three people vanished in black smoke, leaving behind crumpled grey clothes and a blood-tarnished knife.

Mordred heals quickly, and Arthur offers him a place in Camelot. "I could use an ambassador with the Druids," he says.

But Mordred responds with "All due respect, Majesty, but it has long been my dream to be a knight of Camelot."

Arthur pauses before saying "I would train you as I would every other knight, and expect much of you."

"I am ready and willing, Sire."

"Then I will see you on the training field when Gaius gives you a full bill of health," Arthur responds with a smile. "And not before."

"Of course, Majesty."

"And please," her brother says, a pained look on his face. "Stop with the titles. The Knights of the Round Table refer to me as Arthur."

Mordred nods, before closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

It takes Merlin longer. Arthur stays at his side, and Morgana is an audience to quite a few arguments wherein Gwen attempts to remind Arthur that he has people to lead and reassure. "Men," Gwen seethes to her late one evening. "Merlin's my friend too, but you don't see me ignoring my job in order to keep watch over him."

"I think it's an Arthur thing. He has long cared more for his friends than anything else."

"He's not a Prince anymore," Gwen said, exasperated. "He's King!"

"I'll speak with him," Morgana said, "but I'm sure he'd listen to you better than to me."

"I know my drawbacks," Gwen said with a rueful smile. "I can't be cruel to a man I love."

Arthur's eyes were bloodshot, and Morgana had a feeling that he'd been waiting for someone to bully him into bed. "I will not be allowing you back into this room until Gwen tells me you've been attending to your duties, Arthur," she added, and at his indignant look, she scowled. "You're King. That means taking the bad with the good, the scary with the easy, the hard decisions with the easy. You can't help Merlin by sitting there, but you can help your people by sitting in the throne room and hearing them. Speak to them, learn what they need from you. Or, alternatively, I could pretend to be you." At Arthur's hopeful expression, she was quick to add "That was a joke! Arthur honestly, don't you dare! You don't get to shirk your responsibilities. You brought magic back to Camelot, made commoners into Knights, put yourself in danger, and now you're neglecting your people. Did you learn nothing of Uther? For all I hated him, I respected that he cared about Camelot's citizens, if only the non-magic ones." And now her brother looked more like a fish than a king. "You're too tired to listen to this. Go sleep. And if you come back to Gaius' before Gwen tells me you can, I will lay into you until you cry."

She leaves him at the door to his chambers.

Merlin wakes a week later, and Morgana can't help but kiss him, because his smile is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. She didn't even notice what she was doing until she felt him return the pressure in kind. She pulled back, shocked, then laughed. "You stupid man!" She said, still laughing. "You sent us all out of the cavern, all of us but you and Mordred! Do you _never_ think?"

"Well, judging by the fact that I'm awake, it all turned out well enough in the end," he said, pouting. And that was when Morgana noticed that his eyes were golden.

"Are you using magic _already_?" she asked, incredulous. He'd just woken up!

"Am I?" And he actually looks confused. He looks first at his hands, and then up, and Morgana follows his gaze as his mouth drops to form a perfect 'O'. There's a flock of dragons above him made of light. "I . . . can't stop," he muttered. The dragons wink out, but as they do, Merlin's hands and forearms are wreathed with sparks of light. "I can redirect it . . . but it's like I'm a sieve leaking magic."

"But . . . you _are_ magic."

"I don't feel depleted," he muttered.

"Chaos magic can do that," came Mordred's voice, making them both jump. "Of course, you have an inexhaustible source of magic, so it's not as bad as it could be, but a direct hit with Chaos magic can make it impossible to hold onto one's magic." The boy smirks at them. "Lady Morgana, I'm pretty sure _you'll_ be the one asking Arthur permission to court _Merlin_."

Morgana snorts as Merlin splutters indignantly.

"And in the end, they all lived happily ever after," drawled Gwaine from the doorway.

 **A/N: And whatever 'happily ever after' means for you, that's what happened. I'm happy with this ending, so this is where I'm leaving it. Peace to you all, and I hope you enjoyed the story.**


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